PRIVATE  LIBRARY. 
CHARLES  ELMER  KNAPP. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

IRVINE 

GIFT  OF 
MRS.  DOROTHY  K.UPTON 


THE   RECOLLECTIONS   OF 
GEOFFRY    HAMLYN 

VOL.  I. 


HENRY    KINGSLEY'S   NOVELS. 


Uniform  edition.     16mo,  price  per  volume,  $1.00. 


RAVENSHOE.     Two  volumes. 
AUSTIN  ELLIOT.     One  volume. 

THE  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  GEOFFRY  HAMLYN. 
Two  volumes. 


THE  RECOLLECTIONS 


OF 


GEOFFRY    HAMLYN 


BY 

HENRY    KINGSLEY 


IN     TWO    VOLUMES 


VOL.    I. 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1894 


KS 


v 


.l 


TO 

MY  FATHER  AND  MOTHER 
THIS  BOOK 

THE  FRUIT  OF  SO  MANY  WEARY  YEARS  OF   SEPARATION 

IS  DEDICATED 
WITH   THE  DEEPEST    LOVE  AND   REVERENCE.. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGB 

INTRODUCTORY,       ........       i 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  COURTSHIP  AND  MARRIAGE  OF  JOHN  THORNTON, 
CLERK,  AND  THE  BIRTH  OF  SOME  ONE  WHO  TAKES 
RATHER  A  CONSPICUOUS  PART  IN  OUR  STORY,  .  4 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  (A  CERTAIN  FAMILY  LIVING  IN)  EU- 
ROPE, FROM  THE  BATTLE  OF  TRAFALGAR  TO  THE 
PEACE  OF  1818,  CONTAINING  FACTS  HITHERTO  UN- 
PUBLISHED, 8 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SOME  NEW  FACES, 17 

vii 


Contents 


CHAPTER  v. 

PAGE 

IN  WHICH  THE  READER  is  MADE  ACCOMPLICE  TO   A 
MISPRISION  OF  FELONY, 27 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GEORGE  HAWKER  GOES  TO  THE  FAIR — WRESTLES,  BUT 
GETS  THROWN  ON  HIS  BACK — SHOOTS  AT  A  MARK, 
BUT  MISSES  IT, 38 

CHAPTER  VII. 

MAJOR  BUCKLEY  GIVES  HIS  OPINION  ON  TROUT-FISH- 
ING, ON  EMIGRATION,  AND  ON  GEORGE  HAWKER,  56 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  VICAR  HEARS  SOMETHING  TO  HIS  ADVANTAGE,   .     67 

CHAPTER  IX. 
WHEN  THE  KYE  CAME  HAME, 81 

CHAPTER  X. 

IN   WHICH    WE    SEE   A   GOOD    DEAL   OF   MISCHIEF   BREW- 

ING, 92 

viii 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XI. 

PAGE 

IN  WHICH  THE  VICAR  PREACHES  A  FAREWELL   SER- 
MON,          103 

CHAPTER  XII. 

IN  WHICH  A  NEW  FACE  is  INTRODUCED  BY  MEANS  OF 
A  RAT  AND  A  TERRIER, 114 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  DISCOVERY, 124 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  MAJOR'S  VISIT  TO  THE  "  NAG'S-HEAD,"      .        .  141 

CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  BRIGHTON  RACES,  AND  WHAT  HAPPENED  THEREAT,  156 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  END  OF  MARY'S  EXPEDITION,       ....   165 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

EXODUS, 184 

ix 


Contents 

CHAPTER  XVIIL 

PAGE 

THE  FIRST  PUFF  OF  THE  SOUTH  WIND,       .        .        .  193 
CHAPTER  XIX. 

I   HIRE   A   NEW    HORSEBREAKER 203 

CHAPTER   XX. 
A  WARM  CHRISTMAS  DAY, 209 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

JIM  STOCKBRIDGE  BEGINS  TO  TAKE  ANOTHER  VIEW  OF 
MATTERS,         ........  220 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
SAM  BUCKLEY'S  EDUCATION, 227 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

TOONARBIN, .    248 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN  WHICH  MARY  HAWKER  LOSES  ONE  OF  HER  OLDEST 
SWEETHEARTS, 260 


Contents 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

PAGE 

IN  WHICH  THE  NEW  DEAN  OF  B MAKES  HIS  AP- 

PEARANCE,  AND  ASTONISHES  THE  MAJOR  OUT  OF 
HIS  PROPRIETY,        .......  278 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
WHITE  HEATHENS, 291 


THE    RECOLLECTIONS 

OF 

GEOFFRY     HAMLYN 

Chapter  I 

Introductory 

NEAR  the  end  of  February  1857,  I  think  about  the  2oth 
or  so,  though  it  don't  much  matter ;  I  only  know  it  was 
near  the  latter  end  of  summer,  burning  hot,  with  the  bush- 
fires  raging  like  volcanoes  on  the  ranges,  and  the  river  re- 
duced to  a  slender  stream  of  water,  almost  lost  upon  the 
broad  white  flats  of  quartz  shingle.  It  was  the  end  of 
February,  I  said,  when  Major  Buckley,  Captain  Brentwood 
(formerly  of  the  Artillery),  and  I,  Geoffry  Hamlyn,  sat  to- 
gether over  our  wine  in  the  veranda  at  Baroona,  gazing 
sleepily  on  the  grey  plains  that  rolled  away  east  and  north- 
east towards  the  sea. 

We  had  sat  silent  for  some  time,  too  lazy  to  speak, 
almost  to  think.  The  beautiful  flower-garden  which  lay 
before  us,  sloping  towards  the  river,  looked  rather  brown 
and  sere,  after  the  hot  winds,  although  the  orange-trees 
were  still  green  enough,  and  vast  clusters  of  purple  grapes 
were  ripening  rapidly  among  the  yellowing  vine-leaves. 
On  the  whole,  however,  the  garden  was  but  a  poor  subject 
of  contemplation  for  one  who  remembered  it  in  all  its  full 
November  beauty,  and  so  my  eye  travelled  away  to  the  left, 
to  a  broad  paddock  of  yellow  grass  which  bounded  the  gar- 
den on  that  side,  and  there  I  watched  an  old  horse  feeding. 

A  very  old  horse  indeed,  a  horse  which  seemed  to  have 
i 


The  Recollections  of 

reached  the  utmost  bounds  of  equine  existence.  And  yet 
such  a  beautiful  beast.  Even  as  I  looked  some  wild  young 
colts  were  let  out  of  the  stockyard,  and  came  galloping  and 
whinnying  towards  him,  and  then  it  was  a  sight  to  see  the 
old  fellow  as  he  trotted  towards  them,  with  his  nose  in  the 
air,  and  his  tail  arched,  throwing  his  legs  out  before  him 
with  the  ease  and  grace  of  a  four-year-old,  and  making 
me  regret  that  he  wasn't  my  property  and  ten  years 
younger  ;  —  altogether,  even  then,  one  of  the  finest  horses 
of  his  class  I  had  ever  seen,  and  suddenly  a  thought  came 
over  me,  and  I  grew  animated. 

"  Major  Buckley,"  I  said,  "  what  horse  is  that?" 

"  What  horse  is  that?  "  repeated  the  major  very  slowly. 
"  Why,  my  good  fellow,  old  Widderin,  to  be  sure." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  I  said ;  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  that 
old  horse  is  alive  still  ?  " 

"  He  looks  like  it,"  said  the  major.  "  He'd  carry  you  a 
mile  or  two  yet." 

"  I  thought  he  had  died  while  I  was  in  England,"  I 
said.  "  Ah,  major,  that  horse's  history  would  be  worth 
writing." 

"  If  you  began,"  answered  the  major,  "  to  write  the  his- 
tory of  the  horse,  you  must  write  also  the  history  of  every- 
body who  was  concerned  in  those  circumstances  which 
caused  Sam  to  take  a  certain  famous  ride  upon  him. 
And  you  would  find  that  the  history  of  the  horse  would 
be  reduced  into  very  small  compass,  and  that  the  rest  of 
your  book  would  assume  proportions  too  vast  for  the  hu- 
man intellect  to  grasp." 

"  How  so  ?  "  I  said. 

He  entered  into  certain  details,  which  I  will  not  give. 

"  You  would  have,"  he  said,  "  to  begin  at  the  end  of  the 
last  century,  and  bring  one  gradually  on  to  the  present 
time.  Good  heavens  !  just  consider." 

"  I  think  you  exaggerate,"  I  said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered.  "  You  must  begin  the 
histories  of  the  Buckley  and  Thornton  families  in  the  last 


Geofiry  Hamlyn 

generation.  The  Brentwoods  also,  must  not  be  omitted, 
— why,  there's  work  for  several  years.  What  do  you  say, 
Brentwood  ?  " 

"  The  work  of  a  life-time  ;  "  said  the  captain. 

"  But  suppose  I  were  to  write  a  simple  narrative  of  the 
principal  events  in  the  histories  of  the  three  families,  which 
no  one  is  more  able  to  do  than  myself,  seeing  that  nothing 
important  has  ever  happened  without  my  hearing  of  it, — 
how,  I  say,  would  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  If  it  amused  you  to  write  it,  I  am  sure  it  would  amuse 
us  to  read  it,"  said  the  major. 

"  But  you  are  rather  old  to  turn  author,"  said  Captain 
Brentwood.;  "  you'll  make  a  failure  of  it ;  in  fact,  you'll 
never  get  through  with  it." 

I  replied  not,  but  went  into  my  bedroom,  and  returning 
with  a  thick  roll  of  papers  threw  it  on  the  floor — as  on 
the  stage  the  honest  notary  throws  down  the  long-lost 
will,  —  and  there  I  stood  for  a  moment  with  my  arms 
folded,  eyeing  Brentwood  triumphantly. 

"  It  is  already  done,  captain,"  I  said.     "  There  it  lies." 

The  captain  lit  a  cigar,  and  said  nothing ;  but  the  major 
said,  "  Good  gracious  me  !  and  when  was  this  done  ?  " 

"  Partly  here,  and  partly  in  England.  I  propose  to  read 
it  aloud  to  you,  if  it  will  not  bore  you." 

"  A  really  excellent  idea,"  said  the  major.  "  My  dear !  " 
— this  last  was  addressed  to  a  figure  which  was  now  seen 
approaching  us  up  a  long  vista  of  trellised  vines.  A  tall 
figure  dressed  in  grey.  The  figure,  one  could  see  as  she 
came  nearer,  of  a  most  beautiful  old  woman. 

Dressed  I  said  in  grey,  with  a  white  handkerchief  pinned 
over  her  grey  hair,  and  a  light  Indian  shawl  hanging  from 
her  shoulders.  As  upright  as  a  dart,  she  came  towards 
us  through  the  burning  heat,  as  calmly  and  majestically 
as  if  the  temperature  had  been  delightfully  moderate.  A 
hoary  old  magpie  accompanied  her,  evidently  of  great  age, 
and  from  time  to  time  barked  like  an  old  bulldog,  in  a 
wheezy  whisper. 

3 


The  Recollections  of 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  major ;  "  Hamlyn  is  going  to  read 
aloud  some  manuscript  to  us." 

"  That  will  be  very  delightful,  this  hot  weather,"  said 
Mrs.  Buckley.  "  May  I  ask  the  subject,  old  friend  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  you  did  not,  my  dear  madam  ;  you  will 
soon  discover,  in  spite  of  a  change  of  names,  and  perhaps 
somewhat  of  localities." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  the  major  ;  and  so  on  I  went  with 
the  next  chapter,  which  is  the  first  of  the  story. 

The  reader  will  probably  ask  : 

"  Now,  who  on  earth  is  Major  Buckley  ?  and  who  is 
Captain  Brentwood  ?  and  last,  not  least,  who  the  Dickens 
are  you  ?  "  If  you  will  have  patience,  my  dear  sir,  you 
will  find  it  all  out  in  a  very  short  time — Read  on. 


Chapter  II 

The  Courtship  and  Marriage  of  John  Thornton,  Clerk,  and  the 
Birth  of  some  one  who  takes  rather  a  conspicuous  Part  in 
our  Story 

SOMETIME  between  the  years  1780  and  1790,  young 
John  Thornton,  then  a  Servitor  at  Christ  Church,  fell  in 
love  with  pretty  Jane  Hickman,  whose  father  was  a  well- 
to-do  farmer,  living  not  far  down  the  river  from  Oxford  ; 
and  shortly  before  he  took  his  degree,  he  called  formal- 
ly upon  old  Hickman,  and  asked  his  daughter's  hand. 
Hickman  was  secretly  well  pleased  that  his  daughter 
should  marry  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman  like  John  Thorn- 
ton, and  a  man  too  who  could  knock  over  his  bird,  or  kill 
his  trout  in  the  lasher  with  any  one.  So  after  some  decent 
hesitation  he  told  him,  that  as  soon  as  he  got  a  living, 
good  enough  to  support  Jane  as  she  had  been  accustomed 
to  live,  he  might  take  her  home  with  a  father's  blessing, 
and  a  hundred  pounds  to  buy  furniture.  And  you  may 
take  my  word  for  it,  that  there  was  not  much  difficulty 

4 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

with  the  young  lady,  for  in  fact  the  thing  had  long  ago 
been  arranged  between  them,  and  she  was  anxiously  wait- 
ing in  the  passage  to  hear  her  father's  decision,  all  the 
time  that  John  was  closeted  with  him. 

John  came  forth  from  the  room  well  pleased  and  happy. 
And  that  evening  when  they  two  were  walking  together 
in  the  twilight  by  the  quiet  river,  gathering  cowslips  and 
fritillaries,  he  told  her  of  his  good  prospects,  and  how  a 
young  lord,  who  made  much  of  him,  and  treated  him  as  a 
friend  and  an  equal,  though  he  was  but  a  Servitor — and 
was  used  to  sit  in  his  room  talking  with  him  long  after  the 
quadrangle  was  quiet,  and  the  fast  men  had  reeled  off  to 
their  drunken  slumbers — had  only  three  days  before  prom- 
ised him  a  living  of  3OO/.  a-year,  as  soon  as  he  should  take 
his  priest's  orders.  And  when  they  parted  that  night,  at 
the  old  stile  in  the  meadow,  and  he  saw  her  go  gliding 
home  like  a  white  phantom  under  the  dark  elms,  he  thought 
joyfully,  that  in  two  short  years  they  would  be  happily 
settled,  never  more  to  part  in  this  world,  in  his  peaceful 
vicarage  in  Dorsetshire. 

Two  short  years,  he  thought.  Alas !  and  alas !  Before 
two  years  were  gone,  poor  Lord  Sandston  was  lying  one 
foggy  November  morning  on  Hampstead  Heath,  with  a 
bullet  through  his  heart.  Shot  down  at  the  commence- 
ment of  a  noble  and  useful  career  by  a  brainless  gambler— 
a  man  who  did  all  things  ill,  save  billiards  and  pistol-shoot- 
ing ;  his  beauty  and  his  strength  hurried  to  corruption,  and 
his  wealth  to  the  senseless  debauch^  who  hounded  on  his 
murderer  to  insult  him.  But  I  have  heard  old  Thornton 
tell,  with  proud  tears,  how  my  lord,  though  outraged  and 
insulted,  with  no  course  open  to  him  but  to  give  the  vil- 
lain the  power  of  taking  his  life,  still  fired  in  the  air,  and 
went  down  to  the  vault  of  his  forefathers  without  the 
guilt  of  blood  upon  his  soul. 

So  died  Lord  Sandston,  and  with  him  all  John's  hopes  of 
advancement.  A  curate  now  on  5o/.  a-year ;  what  hope 
had  he  of  marrying  ?  And  now  the  tearful  couple,  walking 
5 


The  Recollections  of 

once  more  by  the  river  in  desolate  autumn,  among  the  fly- 
ing yellow  leaves,  swore  constancy,  and  agreed  to  wait  till 
better  times  should  come. 

So  they  waited.  John  in  his  parish  among  his  poor 
people  and  his  school-children,  busy  always  during  the 
day,  and  sometimes  perhaps  happy.  But  in  the  long  win- 
ter evenings,  when  the  snow  lay  piled  against  the  door, 
and  the  wind  howled  in  the  chimney ;  or  worse,  when  the 
wind  was  still,  and  the  rain  was  pattering  from  the  eaves, 
he  would  sit  lonely  and  miserable  by  his  desolate  hearth, 
and  think  with  a  sigh  of  what  might  have  been  had  his 
patron  lived.  And  five-and-twenty  years  rolled  on  until 
James  Brown,  who  was  born  during  the  first  year  of  his 
curateship,  came  home  a  broken  man,  with  one  arm  gone, 
from  the  battle  of  St.  Vincent.  And  the  great  world 
roared  on,  and  empires  rose  and  fell,  and  dull  echoes,  of 
the  great  throes  without  were  heard  in  the  peaceful  Eng- 
lish village,  like  distant  thunder  on  a  summer's  afternoon, 
but  still  no  change  for  him. 

But  poor  Jane  bides  her  time  in  the  old  farm-house, 
sitting  constant  and  patient  behind  the  long  low  latticed 
window,  among  the  geraniums  and  roses,  watching  the 
old  willows  by  the  river.  Five-and-twenty  times  she  sees 
those  willows  grow  green,  and  the  meadow  brighten  up 
with  flowers,  and  as  often  she  sees  their  yellow  leaves 
driven  before  the  strong  south  wind,  and  the  meadow  grow 
dark  and  hoar  before  the  breath  of  autumn.  Her  father 
was  long  since  dead,  and  she  was  bringing  up  her  brother's 
children.  Her  raven  hair  was  streaked  with  grey,  and  her 
step  was  not  so  light,  nor  her  laugh  so  loud,  yet  still  she 
waited  and  hoped,  long  after  all  hope  seemed  dead. 

But  at  length  a  brighter  day  seemed  to  dawn  for  them  ; 
for  the  bishop,  who  had  watched  for  years  John  Thornton's 
patient  industry  and  blameless  conversation,  gave  him,  to 
his  great  joy  and  astonishment,  the  living  of  Drumston, 
worth  35o/.  a-year.  And  now,  at  last,  he  might  marry  if 
he  would.  True,  the  morning  of  his  life  was  gone  long 
6 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

since,  and  its  hot  noon  spent  in  thankless  labour ;  but  the 
evening,  the  sober,  quiet  evening,  yet  remained,  and  he 
and  Jane  might  still  render  pleasant  for  one  another  the 
downward  road  toward  the  churchyard,  and  hand-in- 
hand  walk  more  tranquilly  forward  to  meet  that  dark 
tyrant  Death,  who  seemed  so  terrible  to  the  solitary 
watcher. 

A  month  or  less  after  John  was  installed,  one  soft  grey 
day  in  March,  this  patient  couple  walked  slowly  arm-in- 
arm up  the  hill,  under  the  lychgate,  past  the  dark  yew  that 
shadowed  the  peaceful  graves,  and  so  through  the  damp 
church  porch,  up  to  the  old  stone  altar,  and  there  were 
quietly  married,  and  then  walked  home  again.  No  feast- 
ing or  rejoicing  was  there  at  that  wedding;  the  very 
realization  of  their  long  deferred  hopes  was  a  disappoint- 
ment. In  March  they  were  married,  and  before  the  lanes 
grew  bright  with  the  primroses  of  another  spring,  poor 
Jane  was  lying  in  a  new-made  grave,  in  the  shadow  of 
the  old  grey  tower. 

But,  though  dead,  she  yet  lived  to  him  in  the  person  of 
a  bright-eyed  baby,  a  little  girl,  born  but  three  months  be- 
fore her  mother's  death.  Who  can  tell  how  John  watched 
and  prayed  over  that  infant,  or  how  he  felt  that  there  was 
something  left  for  him  in  this  world  yet,  and  thought  that 
if  his  child  would  live,  he  should  not  go  down  to  the 
grave  a  lonely  desolate  man.  Poor  John  !  — who  can  say 
whether  it  would  not  have  been  better  if  the  mother's  cof- 
fin had  been  made  a  little  larger,  and  the  baby  had  been 
carried  up  the  hill,  to  sleep  quietly  with  its  mother,  safe 
from  all  the  evil  of  this  world. 

But  the  child  lived  and  grew,  and,  at  seventeen,  I  re- 
member her  well,  a  beautiful  girl,  merry,  impetuous,  and 
thoughtless,  with  black  waving  hair  and  dark  blue  eyes ; 
and  all  the  village  loved  her  and  took  pride  in  her.  For 
they  said — "  She  is  the  handsomest  and  the  best  in  the 
parish." 


The  Recollections  of 


Chapter  111 

The  History  of  (a  certain  Family  living  in)  Europe,  from  the 
Battle  of  Trafalgar  to  the  Peace  of  1818,  containing  Facts 
hitherto  unpublished 

AMONG  all  the  great  old  commoner  families  of  the  south 
of  England,  who  have  held  the  lands  of  their  forefathers 
through  every  change  of  dynasty  and  religion,  the  Buck- 
leys of  Clere  stand  deservedly  high  among  the  brightest 
and  the  oldest.  All  down  the  stormy  page  of  this  great 
island's  history  one  sees,  once  in  about  a  hundred  years, 
that  name  in  some  place  of  second-rate  honour  at  least, 
whether  as  admiral,  general,  or  statesman  ;  and  yet,  at  the 
beginning  of  this  present  century,  the  representative  of  the 
good  old  family  was  living  at  Clere  House,  a  palace  built 
in  the  golden  times  of  Elizabeth,  on  QOO/.  a-year,  while  all 
the  county  knew  that  it  took  3007.  to  keep  Clere  in  proper 
repair. 

The  two  Stuart  revolutions  had  brought  them  down 
from  county  princes  to  simple  wealthy  squires,  and  the 
frantic  efforts  made  by  Godfrey  Buckley,  in  the  "  South 
Sea  "  scheme  to  retrieve  the  family  fortunes,  had  well  nigh 
broke  them.  Year  by  year  they  saw  acre  after  acre  of  the 
broad  lands  depart,  and  yet  Marmaduke  Buckley  lived  in 
the  home  of  his  ancestors,  and  the  avenue  was  untouched 
by  axe  or  saw. 

He  was  a  widower,  with  two  sons,  John  and  James. 
John  had  been  to  sea  from  his  earliest  youth,  and  James 
had  joined  his  regiment  a  year  or  more.  John  had  been 
doing  the  state  good  service  under  his  beloved  Colling- 
wood ;  and  on  the  igth  October,  1805,  when  Nelson  and 
Collingwood  made  tryst  to  meet  at  the  gates  of  hell,  John 
Buckley  was  one  of  the  immortals  on  the  deck  of  the 
"  Royal  Sovereign."  And  when  the  war  fog  rolled  away 
to  leeward,  and  Trafalgar  was  won,  and  all  seas  were  free, 
8 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

he  lay  dead  in  the  cockpit,  having  lived  just  long  enough 
to  comprehend  the  magnitude  of  the  victory. 

Brave  old  Marmaduke  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
terrace  at  Clere  uneasy  and  impatient.  Beside  him  was 
the  good  old  curate  who  had  educated  both  the  boys,  and 
wearily  and  oft  they  turned  to  watch  down  the  long  vista 
of  the  ancient  avenue  for  the  groom,  who  had  been  de- 
spatched to  Portsmouth  to  gain  some  tidings  of  the  lieuten- 
ant. They  had  heard  of  the  victory,  and,  in  their  simple 
way,  had  praised  God  for  it,  drinking  a  bottle  of  the  rar- 
est old  wine  to  his  Majesty's  health  and  the  confusion  of 
his  enemies,  before  they  knew  whether  they  themselves 
were  among  the  number  of  the  mourners.  And  now,  as 
they  paced  the  terrace,  every  moment  they  grew  more 
anxious  and  uneasy  for  the  long  delayed  intelligence. 

Some  trifle  took  them  into  the  flower-garden,  and,  when 
they  came  back,  their  hearts  leapt  up,  for  the  messenger 
was  there  dismounted,  opening  the  gate.  The  curate  ran 
down  the  steps,  and  taking  a  black-edged  letter  from  the 
sorrowful  groom,  gave  it  into  the  trembling  hands  of  the 
old  man  with  a  choking  sob.  He  opened  it  and  glanced 
over  it,  and  then,  throwing  it  towards  his  friend,  walked 
steadily  up  the  steps,  and  disappeared  within  the  dark 
porch. 

It  was  just  three  hasty  lines  from  the  great  Collingwood 
himself.  That  brave  heart,  in  the  midst  of  the  din  of  vic- 
tory, had  found  time  to  scrawl  a  word  to  his  old  school- 
mate, and  tell  him  that  his  boy  had  died  like  a  hero,  and 
that  he  regretted  him  like  a  son. 

The  old  man  sat  that  evening  in  the  western  gallery, 
tearless  and  alone,  brooding  over  his  grief.  Three  times 
the  curate  had  peeped  in,  and  as  often  had  retreated,  fear- 
ful of  disturbing  the  old  man's  solemn  sorrow.  The 
autumn  sun  had  gone  down  in  wild  and  lurid  clouds,  and 
the  gallery  was  growing  dark  and  gloomy,  when  the  white 
figure  of  a  beautiful  girl  entering  silently  at  the  lower  door 
came  gliding  up  the  darkening  vista  past  the  light  of  the 

9 


The  Recollections  of 

windows  and  the  shadow  of  the  piers,  to  where  the  old 
man  sat  under  the  high  north  window,  and  knelt  at  his 
feet,  weeping  bitterly. 

It  was  Agnes  Talbot,  the  daughter  of  his  nearest  neigh- 
bour and  best  friend,  whom  the  curate  had  slyly  sent  for, 
thinking  in  his  honest  heart  that  she  would  make  a  better 
comforter  than  he,  and  rightly  ;  for  the  old  man,  bending 
over  her,  lifted  up  his  voice  and  wept,  speaking  for  the 
first  time  since  he  heard  of  his  bereavement,  and  saying, 
"  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy  !  " 

"  He  is  gone,  sir,"  said  Agnes,  through  her  tears ;  "  and 
gone  the  way  a  man  should  go.  But  there  is  another  left 
you  yet ;  remember  him." 

"  Aye,  James,"  said  he  ;  "  alas,  poor  James  !  I  wonder  if 
he  knows  it.  I  wish  he  were  here." 

"James  is  here,"  said  she.  "  He  heard  of  it  before  you 
and  came  posting  over  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  is  waiting 
outside  to  know  if  you  can  see  him." 

The  door  at  the  lower  end  of  the  gallery  opened,  and  a 
tall  and  noble-looking  young  man  strode  up  and  took  his 
father's  hand." 

He  was  above  the  ordinary  height  of  man,  with  a  grand 
broad  forehead  and  bold  blue  eyes.  Old  Marmaduke's 
heart  warmed  up  as  he  parted  his  curling  hair  and  he  said, 

"Thank  God,  I've  got  one  left  still!  The  old  house 
will  not  perish  yet,  while  such  a  one  as  you  remains  to  up- 
hold it." 

After  a  time  they  left  him,  at  his  own  request,  and 
walked  out  together  through  the  dark  rooms  towards  the 
old  hall. 

"  Agnes,  my  beloved,  my  darling  !  "  said  James,  draw- 
ing his  arm  round  her  waist ;  "  I  knew  I  should  find  you 
with  him  like  a  ministering  angel.  Say  something  to  com- 
fort me,  my  love.  You  never  could  love  John  as  I  did  ; 
yet  I  know  you  felt  for  him  as  your  brother,  as  he  soon 
would  have  been,  if  he  had  lived." 

"  What  can  I  say  to  you,  my  own  ?  "  she  replied,  "  save 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

to  tell  you  that  he  fell  as  your  brother  should  fall,  amongst 
the  foremost,  fighting  for  his  country's  existence.  And, 
James,  if  you  must  go  before  me,  and  leave  me  a  widow 
before  I  am  a  bride,  it  would  render  more  tolerable  the 
short  time  that  would  be  left  me  before  I  followed  you,  to 
think  that  you  had  fallen  like  him." 

"  There  will  be  a  chance  of  it,  Agnes,"  said  James,  "  for 
Stuart,  they  say,  is  going  to  Italy,  and  I  go  with  him. 
There  will  be  a  long  and  bloody  war,  and  who  knows  how 
it  will  end  ?  Stay  you  here  quiet  with  the  old  man,  my 
love,  and  pray  for  me ;  the  end  will  come  some  day.  I 
am  only  eighteen  and  an  ensign  ;  in  ten  years  I  may  be  a 
colonel." 

They  parted  that  night  with  tears  and  kisses,  and  a  few 
days  afterwards  James  went  from  among  them  to  join  his 
regiment. 

From  that  time  Agnes  almost  lived  with  old  Marma- 
duke.  Her  father's  castle  could  be  seen  over  the  trees 
from  the  windows  of  Clere,  and  every  morning,  wet  or 
dry,  the  old  man  posted  himself  in  the  great  north  win- 
dow of  the  gallery  to  watch  her  coming.  All  day  she 
would  pervade  the  gloomy  old  mansion  like  a  ray  of  sun- 
light, now  reading  to  him,  now  leading  him  into  the 
flower-garden  in  fine  weather,  till  he  grew  quite  fond  of 
flowers  for  her  sake,  and  began  even  to  learn  the  names 
of  some  of  them.  But  oftenest  of  all  she  would  sit  work- 
ing by  his  side,  while  he  told  her  stories  of  times  gone  by, 
stories  which  would  have  been  dull  to  any  but  her,  but 
which  she  could  listen  to  and  applaud.  Best  of  all  she 
liked  to  hear  him  talk  of  James,  and  his  exploits  by  flood 
and  field  from  his  youth  up  ;  and  so  it  was  that  this  quiet 
couple  never  tired  one  another,  for  their  hearts  were  set 
upon  the  same  object. 

Sometimes  her  two  sisters,  noble  and  beautiful  girls, 
would  come  to  see  him  ;  but  they,  indeed,  were  rather  in- 
truders, kind  and  good  as  they  were.  And  sometimes  old 
Talbot  looked  round  to  see  his  old  friend,  and  talked  of 


The  Recollections  of 

bygone  fishing  and  hunting,  which  roused  the  old  man  up 
and  made  him  look  glad  for  half  a  day  after.  Still,  how- 
ever, Agnes  and  the  old  curate  were  company  enough  for 
him,  for  they  were  the  only  two  who  loved  his  absent  son 
as  well  as  he.  The  love  which  had  been  divided  between 
the  two,  seemed  now  to  be  concentrated  upon  the  one, 
and  yet  this  true  old  Briton  never  hinted  at  James'  selling 
out  and  coming  home,  for  he  said  that  the  country  had 
need  of  every  one  then,  more  particularly  such  a  one  as 
James. 

Time  went  on,  and  he  came  back  to  them  from  Co- 
runna,  and  spending  little  more  than  a  month  at  home,  he 
started  away  once  more  ;  and  next  they  heard  of  him  at 
Busaco,  wounded  and  promoted.  Then  they  followed 
him  in  their  hearts  along  the  path  of  glory,  from  Talavera 
by  Albuera  and  Vittoria,  across  the  Pyrenees.  And  while 
they  were  yet  reading  a  long-delayed  letter,  written  from 
Toulouse  at  midnight — after  having  been  to  the  theatre 
with  Lord  Wellington,  wearing  a  white  cockade  —  he 
broke  in  on  them  again,  to  tell  them  the  war  was  well- 
nigh  over,  and  that  he  would  soon  come  and  live  with 
them  in  peace. 

Then  what  delightful  reunions  were  there  in  the  old 
gallery  window,  going  over  all  the  weary  campaigns  once 
more ;  pleasant  rambles,  too,  down  by  the  river-side  in 
the  sweet  May  evenings,  old  Marmaduke  and  the  curate 
discreetly  walking  in  front,  and  James  and  Agnes  loiter- 
ing far  behind.  And  in  the  succeeding  winter  after  they 
were  married,  what  pleasant  rides  had  they  to  meet  the 
hounds,  and  merry  evenings  before  the  bright  wood-fire 
in  the  hall.  Never  were  four  people  more  happy  than 
they.  The  war  was  done,  the  disturber  was  confined,  and 
peace  had  settled  down  upon  the  earth. 

Peace,  yes.     But  not  for  long.     Spring  came  on,  and 

with  it  strange  disquieting  rumours,  growing  more  certain 

day  by  day,  till  the  terrible  news  broke  on  them  that  the 

faithless  tyrant  had  broke  loose  again,  and  that  all  Europe 

12 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

was  to  be  bathed  in  blood  once  more  by  his  insane  am- 
bition. 

James  had  sold  out  of  the  army,  so  that  when  Agnes 
first  heard  the  intelligence  she  thanked  God  that  her  hus- 
band at  least  would  be  safe  at  home  during  the  storm. 
But  she  was  soon  to  be  undeceived.  When  the  news  first 
came,  James  had  galloped  off  to  Portsmouth,  and  late  in 
the  evening  they  saw  him  come  riding  slowly  and  sadly 
up  the  avenue.  She  was  down  at  the  gate  before  he  could 
dismount,  and  to  her  eager  inquiries  if  the  news  were  true, 
he  replied, 

"  All  too  true,  my  love  ;  and  I  must  leave  you  this  day 
week." 

"  My  God  !  "  said  she  ;  "  leave  me  again,  and  not  six 
months  married  ?  Surely  the  king  has  had  you  long 
enough  ;  may  not  your  wife  have  you  for  a  few  short 
months  ?  " 

"  Listen  to  me,  dear  wife,"  he  replied.  "  All  the  Penin- 
sular men  are  volunteering,  and  I  must  not  be  among  the 
last,  for  every  man  is  wanted  now.  Buonaparte  is  joined 
by  the  whole  army,  and  the  craven  king  has  fled.  If  Eng- 
land and  Prussia  can  combine  to  strike  a  blow  before  he 
gets  head,  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  lives 
will  be  spared.  But  let  him  once  get  firmly  seated,  and 
then,  hey !  for  ten  years'  more  war.  Beside  the  thing  is 
done  ;  my  name  went  in  this  morning." 

She  said,  "  God's  will  be  done  ;  "  and  he  left  his  young 
bride  and  his  old  father  once  again.  The  nightingale  grew 
melodious  in  the  midnight  woods,  the  swallows  nestled 
again  in  the  chimneys,  and  day  by  day  the  shadows  under 
the  old  avenue  grew  darker  and  darker  till  merry  June 
was  half  gone  ;  and  then  one  Saturday  came  the  rumour 
of  a  great  defeat. 

All  the  long  weary  summer  Sabbath  that  followed, 
Agnes  and  Marmaduke  silently  paced  the  terrace,  till 
the  curate  —  having  got  through  his  own  services  some- 
how, and  broken  down  in  the  "  prayer  during  war  and 

13 


The  Recollections  of 

tumults,"  —  came  hurrying  back  to  them  to  give  what 
comfort  he  could. 

Alas !  that  was  but  little.  He  could  only  speculate 
whether  or  not  the  duke  would  give  up  Brussels,  and  re- 
tire for  reinforcements.  If  the  two  armies  could  effect  a 
union,  they  would  be  near  about  the  strength  of  the 
French,  but  then  the  Prussians  were  cut  to  pieces  ;  so  the 
curate  broke  down,  and  became  the  worst  of  the  three. 

Cheer  up,  good  souls  !  for  he  you  love  shall  not  die  yet 
for  many  long  years.  While  you  are  standing  there  be- 
fore the  porch,  dreading  the  long  anxious  night,  Waterloo 
has  been  won,  and  he — having  stood  the  appointed  time 
in  the  serried  square,  watching  the  angry  waves  of  French 
cavalry  dash  in  vain  against  the  glittering  wall  of  bayo- 
nets— is  now  leaning  against  a  gun  in  the  French  posi- 
tion, alive  and  well,  though  fearfully  tired,  listening  to  the 
thunder  of  the  Prussian  artillery  to  the  south,  and  watch- 
ing the  red  sun  go  down  across  the  wild  confusion  of  the 
battle-field. 

But  home  at  Clere  none  slept  that  night,  but  met  again 
next  morning  weary  and  harassed.  All  the  long  three 
days  none  of  them  spoke  much,  but  wandered  about  the 
house  uneasily.  About  ten  o'clock  on  the  Wednesday 
night  they  went  to  bed,  and  the  old  man  slept  from  sheer 
weariness. 

It  was  twelve  o'clock  when  there  came  a  clang  at  the 
gate,  and  a  sound  of  horses'  feet  on  the  gravel.  Agnes 
was  at  the  window  in  a  moment. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  An  orderly  from  Colonel  Mountford  at  Portsmouth," 
said  a  voice  below.  "  A  letter  for  Mr.  Buckley." 

She  sent  a  servant  to  undo  the  door ;  and  going  to  the 
window  again,  she  inquired,  trembling, — 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  news  is,  orderly?  " 

"  A  great  victory,  my  dear,"  said  the  man,  mistaking 
her  for  one  of  the  servants.    "  Your  master  is  all  right. 
There's  a  letter  from  him  inside  this  one." 
14 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  And  I  daresay,"  Mrs.  Buckley  used  to  add,  when  she 
would  tell  this  old  Waterloo  story,  as  we  called  it,  "  that 
the  orderly  thought  me  a  most  heartless  domestic,  for  when 
I  heard  what  he  said,  I  burst  out  laughing  so  loud,  that 
old  Mr.  Buckley  woke  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and 
when  heard,  he  laughed  as  loud  as  I  did." 

So  he  came  back  to  them  again  with  fresh  laurels,  but 
Agnes  never  felt  safe,  till  she  heard  that  the  powers  had 
determined  to  chain  up  her  bete  noire,  Buonaparte,  on  a 
lonely  rock  in  the  Atlantic,  that  he  might  disturb  the  world 
no  more.  Then  at  last  she  began  to  believe  that  peace 
might  be  a  reality,  and  a  few  months  after  Waterloo,  to 
their  delight  and  exultation,  she  bore  a  noble  boy. 

And  as  we  shall  see  more  of  this  boy,  probably,  than 
of  any  one  else  in  these  following  pages,  we  will,  if  you 
please,  appoint  him  hero,  with  all  the  honours  and  emolu- 
ments thereunto  pertaining.  Perhaps  when  I  have  finished, 
you  will  think  him  not  so  much  of  a  hero  after  all.  But 
at  all  events  you  shall  see  how  he  is  an  honest  upright 
gentleman,  and  in  these  times,  perhaps  such  a  character 
is  preferable  to  a  hero. 

Old  Marmaduke  had  been  long  failing,  and  two  years 
after  this  he  had  taken  to  his  bed,  never  to  leave  it  again 
alive.  And  one  day  when  the  son  and  heir  was  rolling 
and  crowing  on  his  grandfather's  bed,  and  Agnes  was 
sewing  at  the  window,  and  James  was  tying  a  fly  by  the 
bedside,  under  the  old  man's  directions  ;  he  drew  the  child 
towards  him,  and  beckoning  Agnes  from  the  window 
spoke  thus : — 

"  My  children,  I  shan't  be  long  with  you,  and  I  must  be 
the  last  of  the  Buckleys  that  die  at  Clere.  Nay,  I  mean 
it,  James ;  listen  carefully  to  me :  when  I  go,  the  house 
and  park  must  go  with  me.  We  are  very  poor  as  you 
well  know,  and  you  will  be  doing  injustice  to  this  boy  if 
you  hang  on  here  in  this  useless  tumble-down  old  palace, 
without  money  enough  to  keep  up  your  position  in  the 
county.  You  are  still  young,  and  it  would  be  hard  for 

15 


The  Recollections  of 

you  to  break  up  old  associations.  It  got  too  hard  for  me 
lately,  though  at  one  time  I  meant  to  do  it.  The  land 
and  the  house  are  the  worst  investment  you  can  have  for 
your  money,  and  if  you  sell,  a  man  like  you  may  make 
money  in  many  ways.  Gordon  the  brewer  is  dying  to 
have  the  place,  and  he  has  more  right  to  it  than  we  have, 
for  he  has  ten  acres  round  to  our  one.  Let  him  have  the 
estate  and  found  a  new  family  ;  the  people  will  miss  us  at 
first,  God  bless  'em,  but  they'll  soon  get  used  to  Gordon, 
for  he's  a  kindly  man,  and  a  just,  and  I  am  glad  that  we 
shall  have  so  good  a  successor.  Remember  your  family 
and  your  ancestors,  and  for  that  reason  don't  hang  on 
here,  as  I  said  before,  in  the  false  position  of  an  old  county 
family  without  money,  like  the  Singletons  of  Hurst,  living 
in  a  ruined  hall,  with  a  miserable  overcropped  farm,  a 
corner  of  the  old  deer  park,  under  their  drawing-room 
window.  No,  my  boy,  I  would  sooner  see  you  take  a 
farm  from  my  lord,  than  that.  And  now  I  am  tired  with 
talking,  and  so  leave  me,  but  after  I  am  gone,  remember 
what  I  have  said." 

A  few  days  after  this  the  old  man  passed  peacefully 
from  the  world  without  a  sigh. 

They  buried  him  in  the  family  vault  under  the  chancel 
windows.  And  he  was  the  last  of  the  Buckleys  that  slept 
in  the  grave  of  his  forefathers.  And  the  old  arch  beneath 
the  east  window  is  built  up  for  ever. 

Soon  after  he  was  gone,  the  Major,  as  I  shall  call  him 
in  future,  sold  the  house  and  park,  and  the  few  farms  that 
were  left,  and  found  himself  with  twelve  thousand  pounds, 
ready  to  begin  the  world  again.  He  funded  his  money  and 
made  up  his  mind  to  wait  a  few  years  and  see  what  to  do  ; 
determining  that  if  no  other  course  should  open,  he  would 
emigrate  to  Canada — the  paradise  of  half-pay  officers. 
But  in  the  meantime  he  moved  into  Devonshire,  and  took 
a  pretty  little  cottage  which  was  to  let,  not  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  Drumston  Vicarage. 

Such  an  addition  to  John  Thornton's  little  circle  of 
16 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

acquaintances  was  very  welcome.  The  Major  and  he 
very  soon  became  fast  friends,  and  noble  Mrs.  Buckley 
was  seldom  a  day  without  spending  an  hour  at  least,  with 
the  beautiful,  wilful  Mary  Thornton. 


Chapter  IV 
Some  new  Faces 

THE  twilight  of  a  winter's  evening,  succeeding  a  short 
and  stormy  day,  was  fast  fading  into  night,  and  old  John 
Thornton  sat  dozing  in  his  chair  before  the  fire,  waiting 
for  candles  to  resume  his  reading.  He  was  now  but  little 
over  sixty,  yet  his  hair  was  snowy  white,  and  his  face 
looked  worn  and  aged.  Any  one  who  watched  his  coun- 
tenance now  in  the  light  of  the  blazing  wood,  might  see 
by  the  down-drawn  brows  and  uneasy  expression  that  the 
old  man  was  unhappy  and  disquieted. 

The  book  that  lay  in  his  lap  was  a  volume  of  Shake- 
speare, open  at  the  "  Merchant  of  Venice."  Something 
he  had  come  across  in  that  play  had  set  him  thinking. 
The  book  had  fallen  on  his  knees,  and  he  sat  pondering 
till  he  had  fallen  asleep.  Yet  even  in  his  slumber  the  un- 
easy expression  stayed  upon  his  face,  and  now  and  then 
he  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

What  could  there  be  to  vex  him  ?  Not  poverty  at  all 
events,  for  not  a  year  ago  a  relation,  whom  he  had  seldom 
seen,  and  of  late  years  entirely  lost  sight  of,  had  left  him 
5,ooo/.  and  a  like  sum  to  his  daughter  Mary.  And  his 
sister,  Miss  Thornton,  a  quiet  good  old  maid,  who  had 
been  a  governess  all  her  life,  had  come  to  live  with  him, 
so  that  he  was  now  comfortably  off,  with  the  only  two  re- 
lations he  cared  about  in  the  world  staying  with  him  to 
make  his  old  age  comfortable.  Yet  notwithstanding  all 
this,  John  was  unhappy. 

His  daughter  Mary  sat  sewing  in  the  window,  ostensi- 
17 


The  Recollections  of 

bly  for  the  purpose  of  using  the  last  of  the  daylight.  But 
the  piece  of  white  muslin  in  her  hand  claimed  but  a  small 
part  of  her  attention.  Sometimes  she  gave  a  stitch  or 
two ;  but  then  followed  a  long  gaze  out  of  the  window, 
across  the  damp  gravel  and  plushy  lawn,  towards  the 
white  gate  under  the  leafless  larches.  Again  with  an  im- 
patient sigh  she  would  address  herself  to  her  sewing,  but 
once  more  her  attention  would  wander  to  the  darkening 
garden  ;  so  at  length  she  rose,  and  leaning  against  the 
window,  began  to  watch  the  white  gate  once  more. 

But  now  she  starts,  and  her  face  brightens  up,  as  the 
gate  swings  on  its  hinges,  and  a  tall  man  comes  with 
rapid  eager  step  up  the  walk.  John  moves  uneasily  in  his 
sleep,  but  unnoticed  by  her,  for  she  stands  back  in  the 
shadow  of  the  curtain,  and  eagerly  watches  the  new  comer 
in  his  approach.  Her  father  sits  up  in  his  chair,  and  after 
looking  sadly  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  sinks  back  with  a 
sigh,  as  though  he  would  wish  to  go  to  sleep  again  and 
wake  no  more. 

The  maid,  bringing  in  candles,  met  the  new  comer  at 
the  door,  and,  carrying  in  the  lights  before  him,  an- 
nounced— 

"  Mr.  George  Hawker." 

I  remember  his  face  indistinctly  as  it  was  then.  I  re- 
member it  far  better  as  it  was  twenty  years  after.  Yet  I 
must  try  to  recall  it  for  you  as  well  as  I  can,  for  we  shall 
have  much  to  do  with  this  man  before  the  end.  As  the 
light  from  the  candles  fell  upon  his  figure  while  he  stood 
in  the  doorway,  any  man  or  woman  who  saw  it  would 
have  exclaimed  immediately,  "  What  a  handsome  fellow  !  " 
and  with  justice  ;  for  if  perfectly  regular  features,  splendid 
red  and  brown  complexion,  faultless  white  teeth,  and  the 
finest  head  of  curling  black  hair  I  ever  saw,  could  make 
him  handsome,  handsome  he  was  without  doubt.  And 
yet  the  more  you  looked  at  him  the  less  you  liked  him, 
and  the  more  inclined  you  felt  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  him. 
The  thin  lips,  the  everlasting  smile,  the  quick  suspicious 
18 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

glance,  so  rapidly  shot  out  from  under  the  overhanging 
eyebrows,  and  as  quickly  withdrawn,  were  fearfully  repul- 
sive, as  well  as  a  trick  he  had  of  always  clearing  his  throat 
before  he  spoke,  as  if  to  gain  time  to  frame  a  lie.  But, 
perhaps,  the  strangest  thing  about  him  was  the  shape  of 
his  head,  which,  I  believe,  a  child  would  have  observed. 
The  young  fellows  in  those  times  knew  little  enough  about 
phrenology.  I  doubt,  indeed,  if  I  had  ever  heard  the 
word,  and  yet  among  the  village  lads  that  man  went  by 
the  name  of  "  flat-headed  George."  The  forehead  was 
both  low  and  narrow,  sloping  a  great  way  back,  while  the 
larger  part  of  the  skull  lay  low  down  behind  the  ears. 
All  this  was  made  the  more  visible  by  the  short  curling 
hair  which  covered  his  head. 

He  was  the  only  son  of  a  small  farmer,  in  one  of  the 
distant  outlying  hamlets  of  Drumston,  called  Woodlands. 
His  mother  had  died  when  he  was  very  young,  and  he  had 
had  but  little  education,  but  had  lived  shut  up  with  his 
father  in  the  lonely  old  farm-house.  And  strange  stories 
were  in  circulation  among  the  villagers  about  that  house, 
not  much  to  the  credit  of  either  father  or  son,  which  stories 
John  Thornton  must  in  his  position  as  clergyman  have 
heard  somewhat  of,  so  that  one  need  hardly  wonder  at  his 
uneasiness  when  he  saw  him  enter. 

For  Mary  adored  him ;  the  rest  of  the  village  disliked 
and  distrusted  him ;  but  she,  with  a  strange  perversity, 
loved  him  as  it  seldom  falls  to  the  lot  of  man  to  be  loved 
— with  her  whole  heart  and  soul. 

"  I  have  brought  you  some  snipes,  Mr.  Thornton,"  said 
he,  in  his  most  musical  tones.  "  The  white  frost  last 
night  has  sent  them  down  off  the  moor  as  thick  as  bees, 
and  this  warm  rain  will  soon  send  them  all  back  again. 
I  only  went  round  through  Fern  worthy  and  Combe,  and 
I  have  killed  five  couple." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  George,  thank  you,"  said  John,  "  they 
are  not  so  plentiful  as  they  were  in  old  times,  and  I  don't 
shoot  so  well  either  as  I  used  to  do.  My  sight's  going, 

19 


The  Recollections  of 

and  I  can't  walk  far.  It  is  nearly  time  for  me  to  go,  I 
think." 

"  Not  yet,  sir,  I  hope ;  not  yet  for  a  long  time,"  said 
George  Hawker,  in  an  offhand  sort  of  way.  But  Mary 
slipped  round,  kissed  his  forehead,  and  took  his  hand 
quietly  in  hers. 

John  looked  from  her  to  George,  and  dropped  her  hand 
with  a  sigh,  and  soon  the  lovers  were  whispering  together 
again  in  the  darkness  of  the  window. 

But  now  there  is  a  fresh  footfall  on  the  garden  walk,  a 
quick,  rapid,  decided  one.  Somebody  bursts  open  the 
hall-door,  and,  without  shutting  it,  dashes  into  the  par- 
lour, accompanied  by  a  tornado  of  damp  air,  and  an- 
nounces in  a  loud,  though  not  unpleasant  voice,  with  a 
foreign  accent — 

"  I  have  got  the  new  Scolopax." 

He  was  a  broad,  massive  built  man,  about  the  mid- 
dle height,  with  a  square  determined  set  of  features, 
brightened  up  by  a  pair  of  merry  blue  eyes.  His  forehead 
was,  I  think,  the  finest  I  ever  saw ;  so  high,  so  broad,  and 
so  upright ;  and,  altogether,  he  was  the  sort  of  man  that 
in  a  city  one  would  turn  round  and  look  after,  wondering 
who  he  was. 

He  stood  in  the  doorway,  dripping,  and  without  "  Good- 
even,"  or  salutation  of  any  sort,  exclaimed — 

"  I  have  got  the  new  Scolopax !  " 

"  No  !  "  cried  old  John,  starting  up  all  alive,  "  Have  you 
though  ?  How  did  you  get  him  ?  Are  you  sure  it  is  not 
a  young  Jack  ?  Come  in  and  tell  us  all  about  it.  Only 
think." 

"  The  obstinacy  and  incredulity  of  you  English,"  replied 
the  new  comer,  totally  disregarding  John's  exclamations, 
and  remaining  dripping  in  the  doorway,  "  far  exceeds  any- 
thing I  could  have  conceived,  if  I  had  not  witnessed  it. 
If  I  told  you  once,  I  told  you  twenty  times,  that  I  had  seen 
the  bird  on  three  distinct  occasions  in  the  meadow  below 
Reel's  mill ;  and  you  each  time  threw  your  jacksnipe 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

theory  in  my  face.  To-day  I  marked  him  down  in  -the 
bare  ground  outside  Haveldon  wood,  than  ran  at  full  speed 
up  to  the  jager,  and  offered  him  five  shillings  if  he  would 
come  down  and  shoot  the  bird  I  showed  him.  He  came, 
killed  the  bird  in  a  style  that  I  would  give  a  year's  tobac- 
co to  be  master  of,  and  remarked  as  I  paid  him  his  money, 
that  he  would  like  to  get  five  shillings  for  every  one  of 
those  birds  he  could  shoot  in  summer  time.  The  jolter- 
head thought  it  was  a  sandpiper,  but  he  wasn't  much  far- 
ther out  than  you  with  your  jacksnipes.  Bah  !  " 

"  My  dear  Doctor  Mulhaus,"  said  John  mildly,  "  I  con- 
fess myself  to  have  been  foolishly  incredulous,  as  to  our 
little  place  being  honoured  by  such  a  distinguished  stran- 
ger as  the  new  snipe.  But  come  in  to  the  fire,  and  smoke 
your  pipe,  while  you  show  me  your  treasure.  Mary,  you 
know,  likes  tobacco,  and  Mr.  George,  I  am  sure,"  he  add- 
ed, in  a  slightly  altered  tone,  "  will  excuse  it." 

Mr.  George  would  be  charmed.  But  the  Doctor,  stand- 
ing staring  at  him  open-eyed  for  a  moment,  demanded  in 
an  audible  whisper — 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  that  ?  " 

"  Mr.  George  Hawker,  Doctor,  from  the  Woodlands.  I 
should  have  thought  you  had  met  him  before." 

"  Never,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  And  I  don't  —  and  I 
mean  I  have  had  the  honour  of  hearing  of  him  from  Stock- 
bridge.  Excuse  me,  sir,  a  moment.  I  am  going  to  take  a 
liberty.  I  am  a  phrenologist."  He  advanced  across  the 
room  to  where  George  sat,  laid  his  hand  on  his  forehead,  and 
drawing  it  lightly  and  slowly  back  through  his  black  curls, 
till  he  reached  the  nape  of  his  neck,  ejaculated  a  "  Hah  !  " 
which  might  mean  anything,  and  retired  to  the  fire. 

He  then  began  filling  his  pipe,  but  before  it  was  filled 
set  it  suddenly  on  the  table,  and  drawing  from  his  coat- 
pocket  a  cardboard  box,  exhibited  to  the  delighted  eyes  of 
the  vicar  that  beautiful  little  brown-mottled  snipe,  which 
now  bears  the  name  of  Colonel  Sabine,  and  having  lit  his 
pipe,  set  to  work  with  a  tiny  penknife,  and  a  pot  of  arsen- 

21 


The  Recollections  of 

ical  soap,  all  of  which  were  disinterred  from  the  vast  coat- 
pocket  before  mentioned,  to  reduce  the  plump  little  bird  to 
a  loose  mass  of  skin  and  feathers,  fit  to  begin  again  his 
new  life  in  death  in  a  glass-case  in  some  collector's  mu- 
seum. 

George  Hawker  had  sat  very  uneasy  since  the  Doctor's 
phrenological  examination,  and  every  now  and  then  cast 
fierce  angry  glances  at  him  from  under  his  lowered  eye- 
brows, talking  but  little  to  Mary.  But  now  he  grows  more 
uneasy  still,  for  the  gate  goes  again,  and  still  another  foot- 
fall is  heard  approaching  through  the  darkness. 

That  is  James  Stockbridge.  I  should  know  that  step 
among  a  thousand.  Whether  brushing  through  the  long 
grass  of  an  English  meadow  in  May  time,  or  quietly  pac- 
ing up  and  down  the  orange  alley  in  the  New  World,  be- 
tween the  crimson  snow  and  the  blazing  west ;  or  treading 
lightly  across  the  wet  ground  at  black  midnight,  when  the 
cattle  are  restless,  or  the  blacks  are  abroad ;  or  even,  I 
should  think,  staggering  on  the  slippery  deck,  when  the 
big  grey  seas  are  booming  past,  and  the  good  ship  seems 
plunging  down  to  destruction. 

He  had  loved  Mary  dearly  since  she  was  almost  a  child  ; 
but  she,  poor  pretty  fool,  used  to  turn  him  to  ridicule,  and 
make  him  fetch  and  carry  for  her  like  a  dog.  He  was 
handsomer,  cleverer,  stronger,  and  better  tempered  than 
George  Hawker,  and  yet  she  had  no  eyes  for  him,  or  his 
good  qualities.  She  liked  him  in  a  sort  of  way ;  nay,  it 
might  even  be  said  that  she  was  fond  of  him.  But  what 
she  liked  better  than  him  was  to  gratify  her  vanity,  by 
showing  her  power  over  the  finest  young  fellow  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  to  use  him  as  a  foil  to  aggravate  George  Hawker. 
My  aunt  Betsy  (spinster)  used  to  say,  that  if  she  were  a 
man,  sooner  than  stand  that  hussy's  airs  (meaning  Mary's) 
in  the  way  young  Stockbridge  did,  she'd  cut  and  run  to 
America,  which,  in  the  old  lady's  estimation,  was  the  last 
resource  left  to  an  unfortunate  human  creature,  before  sui- 
cide. 

22 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

As  he  entered  the  parlour,  John's  face  grew  bright,  and 
he  held  out  his  hand  to  him.  The  Doctor,  too,  shoving 
his  spectacles  on  his  forehead,  greeted  him  with  a  royal 
salute,  of  about  twenty-one  short  words  ;  but  he  got  rather 
a  cool  reception  from  the  lovers  in  the  window.  Mary 
gave  him  a  quiet  good  evening,  and  George  hoped  with  a 
sneer  that  he  was  quite  well,  but  directly  the  pair  were 
whispering  together  once  more  in  the  shadow  of  the  cur- 
tain. 

So  he  sat  down  between  the  Doctor  and  the  Vicar. 
James,  like  all  the  rest  of  us  had  a  profound  respect  for 
the  Doctor's  learning,  and  old  John  and  he  were  as  father 
and  son ;  so  a  better  matched  trio  could  hardly  be  found 
in  the  parish,  as  they  sat  there  before  the  cheerful  blaze, 
smoking  their  pipes. 

"  A  good  rain,  Jim  ;  a  good,  warm,  kindly  rain  after  the 
frost,"  began  the  Vicar. 

"  A  very  good  rain,  sir,"  replied  Jim. 

"  Some  idiots,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  take  the  wing  bones 
out  first.  Now,  my  method  of  beginning  at  the  legs  and 
working  forward,  is  infinitely  superior.  Yet  that  ass  at 
Crediton,  after  I  had  condescended  to  show  him,  persisted 
his  own  way  was  the  best."  All  this  time  he  was  busy 
skinning  his  bird. 

"  How  are  your  Southdowns  looking,  Jim  ?  "  says  the 
Vicar.  "  Foot-rot,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  sir,"  says  James,  "  they  always  will,  you 
know,  in  these  wet  clays.  But  I  prefer  'em  to  the  Leices- 
ters,  for  all  that." 

"  How  is  scapegrace  Hamlyn  ?  "  asked  the  Vicar. 

"  He  is  very  well,  sir.  He  and  I  have  been  out  with  the 
harriers  to-day." 

"  Ah !  taking  you  out  with  the  harriers  instead  of  mind- 
ing his  business ;  just  like  him.  He'll  be  leading  you 
astray,  James,  my  boy.  Young  men  like  you  and  he,  who 
have  come  to  be  their  own  masters  so  young,  ought  to  be 
more  careful  than  others.  Besides,  you  see,  both  you  and 

23 


The  Recollections  of 

Hamlyn,  being  'squires,  have  got  an  example  to  set  to  the 
poorer  folks." 

"  We  are  neither  of  us  so  rich  as  some  of  the  farmers, 
sir." 

"  No ;  but  you  are  both  gentlemen  born,  you  see,  and, 
therefore,  ought  to  be  in  some  way  models  for  those  who 
are  not." 

"  Bosh,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  All  this  about  Hamlyn's 
going  out  hare-hunting." 

"  I  don't  mind  it  once  a  week,"  said  the  Vicar,  ignoring 
the  Doctor's  interruption  ;  "  but  four  times  is  rather  too 
much.  And  Hamlyn  has  been  out  four  days  this  week. 
Twice  with  Wrefords,  and  twice  with  Holes.  He  can't 
deny  it." 

Jim  couldn't,  so  he  laughed.  "  You  must  catch  him, 
sir,"  he  said,  "  and  give  him  a  real  good  wigging.  He'll 
mind  you.  But  catch  him  soon,  sir,  or  you  won't  get 
the  chance.  Doctor,  do  you  know  anything  about  New 
South  Wales  ?  " 

"  Botany  Bay,"  said  the  Vicar  abstractedly,  "  convict 
settlement  in  South  Seas.  Jerry  Shaw  begged  the  Judge 
to  hang  him  instead  of  sending  him  there.  Judge  wouldn't 
do  it  though ;  Jerry  was  too  bad  for  that." 

"  Hamlyn  and  I  are  thinking  of  selling  up  and  going 
there,"  said  Jim.  "  Do  you  know  anything  about  it,  Doc- 
tor ?  " 

"  What ! "  said  the  Doctor ;  "  the  mysterious  hidden 
land  of  the  Great  South  Sea.  Tasman's  land,  Nuyt's  land, 
Leuwin's  land,  De  Witt's  land,  any  fool's  land  who  could 
sail  round,  and  never  have  the  sense  to  land  and  make  use 
of  it  —  the  new  country  of  Australasia.  The  land  with 
millions  of  acres  of  fertile  soil,  under  a  splendid  climate, 
calling  aloud  for  some  one  to  come  and  cultivate  them. 
The  land  of  the  Eucalypti  and  the  Marsupials,  the  land  of 
deep  forests  and  boundless  pastures,  which  go  rolling 
away  westward,  plain  beyond  plain,  to  none  knows  where. 
Yes  ;  I  know  something  about  it." 
24 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

The  Vicar  was  "  knocked  all  of  a  heap  "  at  James's  an- 
nouncement, and  now,  slightly  recovering  himself,  said — 

"  You  hear  him.  He  is  going  to  Botany  Bay.  He  is 
going  to  sell  his  estate,  250  acres  of  the  best  land  in  Dev- 
on, and  go  and  live  among  the  convicts.  And  who  is  go- 
ing with  him  ?  Why,  Hamlyn  the  wise.  Oh  dear  me. 
And  what  is  he  going  for  ?  " 

That  was  a  question  apparently  hard  to  answer.  If 
there  was  a  reason,  Jim  was  either  unwilling  or  unable  to 
give  it.  Yet  I  think  that  the  real  cause  was  standing  there 
in  the  window,  with  a  look  of  unbounded  astonishment  on 
her  pretty  face. 

"  Going  to  leave  us,  James  !  "  she  cried,  coming  quickly 
towards  him.  "  Why,  whatever  shall  I  do  without  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Mary,"  said  James  somewhat  huskily  ;  "  I 
think  I  may  say  that  we  have  settled  to  go.  Hamlyn  has 
got  a  letter  from  a  cousin  of  his  who  went  from  down  Ply- 
mouth way,  and  who  is  making  a  fortune  ;  and  besides,  I 
have  got  tired  of  the  old  place  somehow,  lately.  I  have 
nothing  to  keep  me  here  now,  and  there  will  be  a  change, 
and  a  new  life  there.  In  short,"  said  he,  in  despair  of  giv- 
ing a  rational  reason,  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Mary,  while  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  "  I 
shall  be  so  sorry  to  lose  you." 

"  I  too,"  said  James,  "  shall  be  sorry  to  start  away  be- 
yond seas  and  leave  all  the  friends  I  care  about  save  one 
behind  me.  But  times  are  hard  for  the  poor  folks  here 
now,  and  if  I,  as  'squire,  set  the  example  of  going,  I  know 
many  will  follow.  The  old  country,  Mr.  Thornton,"  he 
continued,  "  is  getting  too  crowded  for  men  to  live  in 
without  a  hard  push,  and  depend  on  it,  when  poor  men 
are  afraid  to  marry  for  fear  of  having  children  which  they 
can't  support,  it  is  time  to  move  somewhere.  The  hive  is 
too  hot,  and  the  bees  must  swarm,  so  that  those  that  go 
will  both  better  themselves,  and  better  those  they  leave 
behind  them,  by  giving  them  more  room  to  work  and 
succeed.  It's  hard  to  part  with  the  old  farm  and  the  old 
25 


The  Recollections  of 

faces  now,  but  perhaps  in  a  few  years,  one  will  get  to 
like  that  country  just  as  one  does  this,  from  being  used 
to  it,  and  the  old  country  will  seem  only  like  a  pleasant 
dream  after  one  has  awoke." 

"  Think  twice  about  it,  James,  my  boy,"  said  the  Vicar. 

"  Don't  be  such  an  ass  as  to  hesitate,"  said  the  Doctor 
impatiently.  "  It  is  the  genius  of  your  restless  discon- 
tented nation  to  go  blundering  about  the  world  like  buf- 
faloes in  search  of  fresh  pasture.  You  have  founded  al- 
ready two  or  three  grand  new  empires,  and  you  are  now 
going  to  form  another ;  and  men  like  you  ought  to  have 
their  fingers  in  the  pie." 

"  Well,  God  speed  you,  and  Hamlyn  too,  wherever 
you  go.  Are  you  going  home,  Mr.  Hawker  ?  " 

George,  who  hated  James  from  the  very  bottom  of  his 
heart,  was  not  ill-pleased  to  hear  there  would  be  a  chance 
of  soon  getting  rid  of  him.  He  had  been  always  half  jeal- 
ous of  him,  though  without  the  slightest  cause,  and  to- 
night he  was  more  so  than  ever,  for  Mary,  since  she  had 
heard  of  James's  intended  departure,  had  grown  very  grave 
and  silent.  He  stood,  hat  in  hand,  ready  to  depart,  and  as 
usual,  when  he  meant  mischief,  spoke  in  his  sweetest  tones. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  be  saying  good  evening,  Mr.  Thorn- 
ton. Why,  James,"  he  added,  "  this  is  something  quite 
new.  So  you  are  going  to  Botany  without  waiting  to  be 
sent  there.  Ha !  ha !  Well,  I  wish  you  every  sort  of 
good  luck.  My  dear  friend,  Hamlyn,  too.  What  a  loss 
he'll  be  to  our  little  society,  so  sociable  and  affable  as  he 
always  is  to  us  poor  farmers'  sons.  You'll  find  it  lonely 
there  though.  You  should  get  a  wife  to  take  with  you. 
Oh,  yes,  I  should  certainly  get  married  before  I  went. 
Good-night." 

All  this  was  meant  to  be  as  irritating  as  possible  ;  but 
as  he  went  out  at  the  door  he  had  the  satisfaction  to  hear 
James's  clear,  honest  laugh  mingling  with  the  Vicar's,  for, 
as  George  had  closed  the  door,  the  Doctor  had  said,  look- 
ing after  him — 

26 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

"  Gott  im  Himmel,  that  young  man  has  got  a  skull  like 
a  tomcat." 

This  complimentary  observation  was  lost  on  Mary,  who 
had  left  the  room  with  George.  The  Vicar  looked  round 
for  her,  and  sighed  when  he  missed  her. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he  ;  "I  wish  he  was  going  instead  of  you." 

"  So  does  the  new  colony,  I'll  be  bound,"  added  the 
Doctor. 

Soon  after  this  the  party  separated.  When  James  and 
the  Doctor  stood  outside  the  door,  the  latter  demanded, 
"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  To  Sydney,  I  believe,  Doctor." 

"  Goose.     I  mean  now." 

"  Home." 

"  No,  you  ain't,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  you  are  going  to 
walk  up  to  Hamlyn 's  with  me,  and  hear  me  discourse." 
Accordingly,  about  eleven  o'clock,  these  two  arrived  at  my 
house,  and  sat  before  the  fire  till  half-past  three  in  the 
morning  ;  and  in  that  time  the  Doctor  had  given  us  more 
information  about  New  South  Wales  than  we  had  been 
able  to  gather  from  ordinary  sources  in  a  month. 


Chapter  V 

In  which  the  Reader  is  made  Accomplice  to  a  Misprision  of 
Felony. 

THOSE  who  only  know  the  river  Taw  as  he  goes  sweep- 
ing, clear  and  full,  past  orchards  and  farmhouses,  by  woods 
and  parks,  and  through  long  green  meadows,  after  he  has 
left  Dartmoor,  have  little  idea  of  the  magnificent  scene 
which  rewards  the  perseverance  of  any  one  who  has  the 
curiosity  to  follow  him  up  to  his  granite  cradle  between 
the  two  loftiest  eminences  in  the  West  of  England. 

On  the  left,  Great  Cawsand  heaves  up,  down  beyond 
down,  a  vast  sheet  of  purple  heath  and  golden  whin,  while 
27 


The  Recollections  of 

on  the  right  the  lofty  serrated  ridge  of  Yestor  starts  boldly 
up,  black  against  the  western  sky,  throwing  a  long  shadow 
over  the  wild  waste  of  barren  stone  at  his  feet. 

Some  Scotchmen,  perhaps,  may  smile  at  my  applying 
the  word  "magnificent"  to  heights  of  only  2,100  feet. 
Yet  I  have  been  among  mountains  which  double  Ben 
Nevis  in  height,  and  with  the  exception  of  the  Murray 
Gates  in  Australia,  and  a  glen  in  Madeira,  whose  name  I 
have  forgotten,  I  have  never  seen  among  them  the  equal 
of  some  of  the  northern  passes  of  Dartmoor  for  gloomy 
magnificence.  For  I  consider  that  scenery  depends  not 
so  much  on  height  as  on  abruptness. 

It  is  an  evil,  depressing  place.  Far  as  the  eye  can  reach 
up  the  glen  and  to  the  right,  it  is  one  horrid  waste  of  grey 
granite  ;  here  and  there  a  streak  of  yellow  grass  or  a  patch 
of  black  bog  ;  not  a  tree  nor  a  shrub  within  the  sky-line. 
On  a  hot  summer's  day  it  is  wearisome  enough  for  the 
lonely  angler  to  listen  to  the  river  crawling  lazily  through 
the  rocks  that  choke  his  bed,  mingled  with  the  clocking  of 
some  water-moved  boulder,  and  the  chick-chick  of  the 
stonechat,  or  the  scream  of  the  golden  plover  over  head. 
But  on  a  wild  winter's  evening,  when  day  is  fast  giving 
place  to  night,  and  the  mist  shrouds  the  hill,  and  the  wild 
wind  is  rushing  hoarse  through  tor  and  crag,  it  becomes 
awful  and  terrible  in  the  extreme. 

On  just  such  a  night  as  that,  at  that  time  when  it  be- 
comes evident  that  the  little  light  we  have  had  all  day  is 
about  to  leave  us,  a  lonely  watcher  was  standing  by  the 
angry  swelling  river  in  the  most  desolate  part  of  the  pass, 
at  a  place  where  a  vast  confusion  of  formless  rocks  crosses 
the  stream,  torturing  it  into  a  hundred  boiling  pools  and 
hissing  cascades. 

He  stood  on  the  summit  of  a  cairn  close  to  the  river, 
and  every  now  and  then,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
he  looked  eastward  through  the  driving  rain,  as  though 
expecting  some  one  who  came  not.  But  at  length,  grown 
tired  of  watching,  he  with  an  oath  descended  to  a  sheltered 
28 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

corner  among  the  boulders,  where  a  smouldering  peat-tire 
was  giving  out  more  smoke  than  heat,  and,  crouching  over 
it,  began  to  fan  the  embers  with  his  hat. 

He  was  a  somewhat  short,  though  powerful  man,  in  age 
about  forty,  very  dark  in  complexion,  with  black  whiskers 
growing  half  over  his  chin.  His  nose  was  hooked,  his 
eyes  were  black  and  piercing,  and  his  lips  thin.  His  face 
was  battered  like  an  old  sailor's,  and  every  careless,  un- 
studied motion  of  his  body  was  as  wild  and  reckless  as 
could  be.  There  was  something  about  his  tout  ensemble, 
in  short,  that  would  have  made  an  Australian  policeman 
swear  to  him  as  a  convict  without  the  least  hesitation. 

There  were  redeeming  points  in  the  man's  face,  too. 
There  was  plenty  of  determination,  for  instance,  in  that 
lower  jaw ;  and  as  he  bent  now  over  the  fire,  and  his 
thoughts  wandered  away  to  other  times  and  places,  the 
whole  appearance  of  the  man  seemed  to  change  and  be- 
come milder  and  kindlier  ;  yet  when  some  slight  noise 
makes  him  lift  his  head  and  look  round,  there  is  the  old 
expression  back  again,  and  he  looks  as  reckless  and  des- 
perate as  ever ;  what  he  is  is  more  apparent,  and  the  ghost 
of  what  he  might  have  been  has  not  wholly  departed. 

I  can  picture  to  myself  that  man  scowling  behind  the 
bayonet  line  at  Maida,  or  rapidly  and  coolly  serving  his 
gun  at  Trafalgar,  helping  to  win  the  dominion  of  all  seas, 
or  taking  his  trick  at  the  helm  through  arctic  iceblocks 
with  Parry,  or  toiling  on  with  steadfast  Sturt,  knee-deep 
in  the  sand  of  the  middle  desert,  patiently  yet  hopelessly 
scanning  the  low  quivering  line  of  the  north-west  horizon. 

In  fifty  situations  where  energy  and  courage  are  required, 
I  can  conceive  that  man  a  useful  citizen.  Yet  here  he  is 
on  the  lone  moor,  on  the  winter's  night,  a  reckless,  curs- 
ing, thrice  convicted  man.  His  very  virtues,  —  his  im- 
patient energy  and  undeniable  courage,  —  his  greatest 
stumbling-blocks,  leading  him  into  crimes  which  a  lazy 
man  or  a  coward  would  have  shrunk  from.  Deserted 
apparently  by  God  and  man,  he  crouched  there  over  the 
29 


The  Recollections  of 

low  fire,  among  his  native  rocks,  and  meditated  fresh  vil- 
lanies. 

He  had  been  transported  at  eighteen  for  something,  I 
know  not  what,  which  earned  transportation  in  those  days, 
and  since  then  his  naturally  violent  temper,  aggravated 
instead  of  being  broken  by  penal  discipline,  had  earned 
him  three  fresh  convictions  in  the  colony.  From  the  last 
of  these  sentences  he  had  escaped,  with  a  cunning  and 
address  which  had  baffled  the  vigilance  of  the  Sydney 
police,  good  as  they  were,  and  had  arrived  home,  two  years 
before  this  time,  after  twenty-one  years'  absence,  at  his 
native  village  in  the  moor. 

None  there  knew  him,  or  even  guessed  who  he  was. 
His  brother,  a  small  farmer,  who  would  have  taken  him  to 
his  heart  had  he  recognised  him,  always  regarded  him  as 
a  suspicious  stranger ;  and  what  cut  him  deeper  still,  his 
mother,  his  old,  half-blind,  palsied  mother,  whose  memory 
he  had  in  some  sort  cherished  through  the  horrors  of  the 
hulk,  the  convict-ship,  the  chain-gang,  and  the  bush,  knew 
him  not.  Only  once,  when  he  was  speaking  in  her  pres- 
ence, she  said  abruptly,  — 

"  The  voice  of  him  is  like  the  voice  of  my  boy  that  was 
took  away.  But  he  was  smooth-faced,  like  a  girl,  and 
ye're  a  dark,  wrinkled  man.  'Sides,  he  died  years  agone, 
over  the  water." 

But  the  old  lady  grew  thoughtful  and  silent  from  that 
day,  and  three  weeks  after  she  was  carried  up  to  her 
grave, — 

"  By  the  little  grey  church  on  the  windy  hill." 

At  the  funeral,  William  Lee,  the  man  whom  I  have  been 
describing,  pushed  quietly  through  the  little  crowd,  and  as 
they  threw  the  first  earth  on  the  coffin,  stood  looking  over 
the  shoulder  of  his  brother,  who  was  unconscious  of  his 
existence. 

Like  many  men  who  have  been  much  in  great  solitudes, 
and  have  gone  days  and  weeks  sometimes  without  meet- 
30 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

ing  a  fellow-creature,  he  had  acquired  the  habit  of  think- 
ing aloud,  and  if  any  one  had  been  listening  they  would 
have  heard  much  such  a  soliloquy  as  the  following,  ex- 
pletives omitted,  or  rather  softened  :  — 

"  A  brutal  cold  country  this,  for  a  man  to  camp  out  in. 
Never  a  buck-log  to  his  fire,  no,  nor  a  stick  thicker  than 
your  finger  for  seven  mile  round  ;  and  if  there  was,  you'd 
get  a  month  for  cutting  it.  If  the  young  'un  milks  free 
this  time,  I'll  be  off  to  the  bay  again,  I  know.  But  will 
he?  By  George,  he  shall  though.  The  young  snob,  I 
know  he  daren't  but  come,  and  yet  it's  my  belief  he's  late 
just  to  keep  me  soaking  out  in  the  rain.  Whew  !  it's  cold 
enough  to  freeze  the  tail  off  a  tin  possum  ;  and  this  in- 
fernal rubbish  won't  burn,  at  least  not  to  warm  a  man. 
If  it  wasn't  for  the  whisky  I  should  be  dead.  There's  a 
rush  of  wind ;  I  am  glad  for  one  thing  there  is  no  dead 
timber  overhead.  He'll  be  drinking  at  all  the  places  com- 
ing along  to  get  his  courage  up  to  bounce  me,  but  there 
ain't  a  public-house  on  the  road  six  miles  from  this,  so  the 
drink  will  have  pretty  much  died  out  of  him  by  the  time 
he  gets  to  me,  and  if  I  can  get  him  to  sit  in  this  rain,  and 
smoke  'backer  for  five  minutes,  he  won't  be  particular 
owdacious.  I'll  hide  the  grog,  too,  between  the  stones. 
He'll  be  asking  for  a  drink  the  minute  he  comes.  I  hope 
Dick  is  ready ;  he  is  pretty  sure  to  be.  He's  a  good  little 
chap,  that  Dick  ;  he  has  stuck  to  me  well  these  five  years. 
I  wouldn't  like  to  trust  him  with  another  man's  horse, 
though.  But  this  other  one  is  no  good ;  he's  got  all  the 
inclination  to  go  the  whole  hog,  and  none  of  the  pluck 
necessary.  If  he  ever  is  lagged,  he  will  be  a  worse  one 
than  ever  I  was,  or  Dick  either.  There  he  is,  for  a  hundred 
pounds." 

A  faint  "  halloo  !  "  sounded  above  the  war  of  the  weath- 
er ;  and  Lee,  putting  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  replied  with 
that  strange  cry,  so  well  known  to  all  Australians  — 
"CoeeY1 

A  man  was  now  heard  approaching  through  the  dark- 
Si 


The  Recollections  of 

ness,  now  splashing  deep  into  some  treacherous  moss  hole 
with  a  loud  curse,  now  blundering  among  loose-lying 
blocks  of  stone.  Lee  waited  till  he  was  quite  close,  and 
then  seizing  a  bunch  of  gorse  lighted  it  at  his  fire  and  held 
it  aloft ;  the  bright  blaze  fell  full  upon  the  face  and  feat- 
ures of  George  Hawker. 

"  A  cursed  place  and  a  cursed  time,"  he  began,  "  for  an 
appointment.  If  you  had  wanted  to  murder  me,  I  could 
have  understood  it.  But  I  am  pretty  safe,  I  think ;  your 
interest  don't  lie  that  way." 

"  Well,  well,  you  see,"  returned  Lee,  "  I  don't  want  any 
meetings  on  the  cross  up  at  my  place  in  the  village.  The 
whole  house  ain't  mine,  and  we  don't  know  who  may  be 
listening.  I  am  suspected  enough  already,  and  it  wouldn't 
look  well  for  you  to  be  seen  at  my  place.  Folks  would 
have  begun  axing  what  for." 

"  Don't  see  it,"  said  George.  "  Besides,  if  you  did  not 
want  to  see  me  at  home,  why  the  devil  do  you  bring  me 
out  here  in  the  middle  of  the  moor  ?  We  might  have  met 
on  the  hill  underneath  the  village,  and  when  we  had  done 
business  gone  up  to  the  public-house.  D d  if  I  under- 
stand it." 

He  acquiesced  sulkily  to  the  arrangement,  however,  be- 
cause he  saw  it  was  no  use  talking  about  it,  but  he  was 
far  from  comfortable.  He  would  have  been  still  less  so 
had  he  known  that  Lee's  shout  had  brought  up  a  confed- 
erate, who  was  now  peering  over  the  rocks,  almost  touch- 
ing his  shoulder. 

"  Well,"  said  Lee,  "  here  we  are,  so  we  had  better  be  as 
comfortable  as  we  can  this  devil's  night." 

"  Got. anything  to  drink  ?  " 

"  Deuce  a  swipe  of  grog  have  I.  But  I  have  got  some 
real  Barret's  twist,  that  never  paid  duty  as  I  know'd  on, 
so  just  smoke  a  pipe  before  we  begin  talking,  and  show 
you  ain't  vexed." 

"  I'd  sooner  have  had  a  drop  of  grog,  such  a  night  as 
this." 

32 


Geoff  ry  Hamlyn 

"  We  must  do  as  the  Spaniards  do,  when  they  can't  get 
anything,"  said  Lee  ;  "  go  without." 

They  both  lit  their  pipes,  and  smoked  in  silence  for  a 
few  minutes,  till  Lee  resumed  : — 

"  If  the  witches  weren't  all  dead,  there  would  be  some 
of  them  abroad  to-night ;  hear  that  ?  " 

"  Only  a  whimbrel,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  George. 

"  That's  something  worse  than  a  whimbrel,  I'm  think- 
ing," said  the  other.  "  There's  some  folks  don't  believe 
in  witches  and  the  like,"  he  continued ;  "  but  a  man  that's 
seen  a  naked  old  hag  of  a  gin  ride  away  on  a  myall- 
bough,  knows  better." 

"  Lord  !  "  said  George.  "  I  shouldn't  have  thought 
you'd  have  believed  in  the  like  of  that — but  I  do — that 
old  devil's  dam,  dame  Parker,  that  lives  alone  up  in  Hath- 
erleigh  Wood,  got  gibbering  some  infernal  nonsense  at 
me  the  other  day,  for  shooting  her  black  cat.  I  made  the 
cross  in  the  road  though,  so  I  suppose  it  won't  come  to 
anything." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Lee ;  "  but  I'd  sooner  kill  a  man 
than  a  black  cat." 

Another  pause.  The  tobacco,  so  much  stronger  than 
any  George  had  been  accustomed  to,  combined  with  the 
cold,  made  him  feel  nervous  and  miserable. 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  resumed  Lee,  "  there  were  two 
young  brothers  made  it  up  to  rob  the  squire's  house, 
down  at  Gidleigh.  They  separated  in  the  garden  after 
they  cracked  the  crib,  agreeing  to  meet  here  in  this  very 
place,  and  share  the  swag,  for  they  had  got  nigh  seventy 
pound.  They  met  and  quarrelled  over  the  sharing  up  ; 
and  the  elder  one  drew  out  a  pistol,  and  shot  the  younger 
dead.  The  poor  boy  was  sitting  much  where  you  are  sit- 
ting now,  and  that  long  tuft  of  grass  grew  up  from  his 
blood." 

"  I  believe  that's  all  a  lie,"  said  George ;  "  you  want  to 
drive  me  into  the  horrors  with  your  humbugging  tales." 

Lee,  seeing  that  he  had  gone  far  enough,  if  not  too  far, 
33 


The  Recollections  of 

proposed,  somewhat  sulkily,  that  they  should  begin  to  talk 
about  what  brought  them  there,  and  not  sit  crouching  in 
the  wet  all  night. 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  it's  you  to  begin.  What  made 
you  send  for  me  to  this  infernal  place  ?  " 

"  I  want  money,"  said  Lee. 

"  Then  you'd  better  axe  about  and  get  some,"  said 
George  ;  "  you'll  get  none  from  me.  I  am  surprised  that 
a  man  with  your  knowledge  of  the  world  should  have  sent 
me  such  a  letter  as  you  did  yesterday,  I  am  indeed  — 
What  the  devil's  that  ?  " 

He  started  on  his  feet.  A  blaze  of  sudden  light  filled 
the  nook  where  they  were  sitting,  and  made  it  as  bright 
as  day,  and  a  voice  shouted  out, 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  my  secret  coves,  what's  going  on  here  ? 
something  quiet  and  sly,  eh  ?  something  worth  a  fifty- 
pound  note,  eh?  Don't  you  want  an  arbitrator,  eh? 
Here's  one,  ready  made." 

"  You're  playing  a  dangerous  game,  my  flashman,  who- 
ever you  are,"  said  Lee,  rising  savagely.  "  I've  shot  a 
man  down  for  less  than  that.  So  you've  been  stagging 
this  gentleman  and  me,  and  listening,  have  you  ?  For 
just  half  a  halfpenny,"  he  added,  striding  towards  him, 
and  drawing  out  a  pistol,  "  you  shouldn't  go  home  this 
night." 

"  Don't  you  be  a  fool,  Bill  Lee ; "  said  the  new  comer. 
"  I  saw  the  light  and  made  towards  it,  and  as  I  come  up 
I  heard  some  mention  made  of  money.  Now  then,  if  my 
company  is  disagreeable,  why  I'll  go,  and  no  harm  done." 

"  What !  it's  you,  is  it  ?  "  said  Lee  ;  "  well,  now  you've 
come,  you  may  stop  and  hear  what  it's  all  about.  I  don't 
care,  you  are  not  very  squeamish,  or  at  least,  usedn't  to 
be." 

George  saw  that  the  arrival  of  this  man  was  preconcert- 
ed, and  cursed  Lee  bitterly  in  his  heart,  but  he  sat  still,  and 
thought  how  he  could  out-manoeuvre  them. 

"  Now,"  said  Lee,  "  I  ain't  altogether  sorry  that  you 

34 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

have  come,  for  I  want  to  tell  you  a  bit  of  a  yarn,  and  ask 
your  advice  about  my  behaviour.  This  is  about  the  state 
of  the  case.  A  young  gentleman,  a  great  friend  of  mine, 
was  not  very  many  years  ago,  pretty  much  given  up  to 
fast  living,  cock-fighting,  horse-racing,  and  many  other  lit- 
tle matters  which  all  young  fellows  worth  anything  are 
pretty  sure  to  indulge  in,  and  which  are  very  agreeable 
for  the  time,  but  which  cost  money,  and  are  apt  to  bring 
a  man  into  low  society.  When  I  tell  you  that  he  and  I 
first  met  in  Exeter,  as  principals  in  crossing  a  fight,  you 
may  be  sure  that  these  pursuits  had  brought  the  young 
gentleman  into  very  low  company  indeed.  In  fact,  he  was 
over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  raising  money  in  every  way  he 
could,  hook  or  crook,  square  or  cross,  to  satisfy  certain 
creditors,  who  were  becoming  nasty  impatient  and  vexa- 
tious. I  thought  something  might  be  made  of  this  young 
gentleman,  so  finding  there  was  no  pride  about  him,  I  cul- 
tivated his  acquaintance,  examined  his  affairs,  and  put  him 
up  to  the  neatest  little  fakement  in  the  world,  just  showed 
him  how  to  raise  two  hundred  pounds,  and  clear  himself 
with  everybody,  just  by  signing  his  father's  name,  thereby 
saving  the  old  gent  the  trouble  of  writing  it  (he  is  very  in- 
firm, is  dad),  and  anticipating  by  a  few  years  what  must 
be  his  own  at  last.  Not  to  mention  paying  off  a  lot  of 
poor  publicans  and  horse-dealers,  who  could  not  afford 
to  wait  for  their  money.  Blowed  if  I  don't  think  it  the 
most  honest  action  he  ever  did  in  his  life.  Well,  he  com- 
mitted the — wrote  the  name  I  mean, — and  stood  two  ten- 
pound  notes  for  the  information,  quite  handsome.  But 
now  this  same  young  gent  is  going  to  marry  a  young  lady 
with  five  thousand  pounds  in  her  own  right,  and  she  near- 
ly of  age.  Her  father,  I  understand,  is  worth  another 
five  thousand,  and  very  old  ;  so  that  what  he'll  get  ulti- 
mately if  he  marries  into  that  family,  counting  his  own 
expectations,  won't  be  much  less  I  should  say  than  twenty 
thousand  pounds.  Now  I  mean  to  say,  under  these  cir- 
cumstances, I  should  be  neglecting  my  own  interests  most 
35 


The  Recollections  of 

culpably,  if  I  didn't  demand  from  him  the  trifling  sum  of 
three  hundred  pounds  for  holding  my  tongue." 

"  Why,  curse  you,"  broke  in  Hawker,  "  you  said  two 
hundred  yesterday." 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Lee,  "  but  that  was  yesterday.  To- 
morrow, if  the  job  ain't  settled,  it'll  be  four,  and  the  day 
after  five.  It's  no  use,  George  Hawker,"  he  continued; 
"  you  are  treed,  and  you  can't  help  yourself.  If  I  give  in- 
formation you  swing,  and  you  know  it ;  but  I'd  rather 
have  the  money  than  see  the  man  hanged.  But  mind," 
said  he,  with  a  snarl,  "  if  I  catch  you  playing  false,  by  the 
Lord,  I'll  hang  you  for  love." 

For  an  instant  the  wretched  George  cast  a  hurried 
glance  around,  as  if  considering  what  wild  chance  there 
was  of  mastering  his  two  enemies,  but  that  glance  showed 
him  that  it  was  hopeless,  for  they  both  stood  close  together, 
each  holding  in  his  hand  a  cocked  pistol,  so  in  despair 
he  dropped  his  eyes  on  the  fire  once  more,  while  Lee 
chuckled  inwardly  at  his  wise  foresight  in  bringing  an 
accomplice. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  it's  lucky  Dick's  here. 
If  I  had  been  alone,  he'd  have  been  at  me  then  like  a  tiger. 
It  would  have  been  only  man  to  man,  but  he  would  have 
been  as  good  as  me ;  he'd  have  fought  like  a  rat  in  a  cor- 
•ner." 

George  sat  looking  into  the  embers  for  a  full  half  minute, 
while  the  others  waited  for  his  answer,  determined  that  he 
should  speak  first.  At  length  he  raised  his  head,  and  said 
hoarsely,  looking  at  neither  of  them, — 

"  And  where  am  I  to  get  three  hundred  pounds?  " 

"  A  simple  question  very  easily  answered,"  said  Lee. 
"  Do  what  you  did  before,  with  half  the  difficulty.  You 
manage  nearly  everything  now  your  father  is  getting  blind, 
so  you  need  hardly  take  the  trouble  of  altering  the  figures 
in  the  banker's  book,  and  some  slight  hint  about  taking  a 
new  farm  would  naturally  account  for  the  old  man's  draw- 
ing out  four  or  five  hundred.  The  thing's  easier  than  ever." 

36 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  Take  my  advice,  young  man,"  said  Dick,  "  and  take 
the  shortest  cut  out  of  the  wood.  You  see  my  friend  here. 
William,  has  got  tired  of  these  parts,  as  being,  you  see, 
hardly  free  and  easy  enough  for  him,  and  he  wants  to  get 
back  to  a  part  of  the  world  he  was  rather  anxious  to  leave 
a  few  years  ago.  If  he  likes  to  take  me  back  with  him, 
why  he  can.  I  rather  fancy  the  notion  myself.  Give  him 
the  money,  and  in  three  months  we'll  both  be  fourteen 
thousand  odd  miles  off.  Meanwhile,  you  marry  the  young 
lady,  and  die  in  your  bed,  an  honest  gentleman,  at  eighty- 
four,  instead  of  being  walked  out  some  cold  morning  to  a 
gallows  at  twenty-two." 

"  Needs  must  where  the  devil  drives,"  replied  George. 
"  You  shall  have  the  money  this  day  week.  And  now  let 
me  go,  for  I  am  nearly  froze  dead." 

"  That's  the  talk,"  said  Lee ;  "I  knew  you  would  be 
reasonable.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  my  necessities,  I  am  sure 
I  never  would  have  bothered  you.  Well,  good  night." 

George  rose  and  departed  eastward,  towards  the  rising 
moon,  while  Lee  and  his  companion  struck  due  west 
across  the  moor.  The  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  sky  was 
clear,  so  that  there  was  not  much  difficulty  in  picking  their 
way  through  the  stones  and  moss-hags.  Suddenly  Lee 
stopped,  and  said  to  his  comrade,  with  an  oath, — 

"  Dick,  my  boy,  I  didn't  half  like  the  way  that  dog  left 
us." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  replied  the  other.  "  He  has  got  some 
new  move  in  his  head,  you  may  depend  on  it.  He'll  give 
you  the  slip  if  he  can." 

"  Let  him  try  it,"  said  Lee  ;  "  oh,  only  just  let  him  try 
it." 

And  then  the  pair  of  worthies  walked  home. 


37 


The  Recollections  of 


Chapter  VI 

George  Hawker  goes  to  the  Fair— wrestles,  but  gets  thrown 
on  his  Back— shoots  at  a  Mark,  but  misses  it. 

LEE  had  guessed  rightly.  When  George  found  him- 
self so  thoroughly  entrapped,  and  heard  all  his  most 
secret  relations  with  Lee  so  openly  discussed  before  a 
third  man,  he  was  in  utter  despair,  and  saw  no  hope  of  ex- 
trication from  his  difficulties.  But  this  lasted  for  a  very 
short  time.  Even  while  Lee  and  Dick  were  still  speaking, 
he  was  reflecting  how  to  turn  the  tables  on  them,  and 
already  began  to  see  a  sparkle  of  hope  glimmering  afar. 

Lee  was  a  returned  convict,  George  had  very  little  doubt 
of  that.  A  thousand  queer  expressions  he  had  let  fall  in 
conversation  had  shown  him  that  it  was  so.  And  now, 
if  he  could  but  prove  it,  and  get  Lee  sent  back  out  of  the 
way.  And  yet  that  would  hardly  do  after  all.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  identify  him.  His  name  gave  no  clue  to 
who  he  was.  There  were  a  thousand  or  two  of  Lees 
hereabouts,  and  a  hundred  William  Lees  at  least.  Still  it 
was  evident  that  he  was  originally  from  this  part  of  the 
country  ;  it  was  odd  no  one  had  recognised  him. 

So  George  gave  up  this  plan  as  hopeless.  "  Still,"  said 
he,  "  there  is  a  week  left ;  surely  I  can  contrive  to  bowl  him 
out  somehow."  And  then  he  walked  on  in  deep  thought. 

He  was  crossing  the  highest  watershed  in  the  country 
by  an  open,  low-sided  valley  on  the  southern  shoulder  of 
Cawsand.  To  the  left  lay  the  mountain,  and  to  the  right 
tors  of  weathered  granite,  dim  in  the  changing  moonlight. 
Before  him  was  a  small  moor-pool,  in  summer  a  mere 
reedy  marsh,  but  now  a  bleak  tarn  standing  among  dan- 
gerous mosses,  sending  ghostly  echoes  across  the  solitude, 
as  the  water  washed  wearily  against  the  black  peat  shores, 
or  rustled  among  the  sere  skeleton  reeds  in  the  shallow 
bays. 

33 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Suddenly  he  stopped  with  a  jar  in  his  brain  and  a  chill 
at  his  heart.  His  breath  came  short,  and  raising  one 
hand,  he  stood  beating  the  ground  for  half  a  minute  with 
his  foot.  He  gave  a  stealthy  glance  around,  and  then 
murmured  hoarsely  to  himself, — 

"  Aye,  that  would  do ;  that  would  do  well.  And  I 
could  do  it,  too,  when  I  was  half-drunk." 

Was  that  the  devil,  chuckling  joyous  to  himself  across 
the  bog  ?  No,  only  an  innocent  little  snipe,  getting  merry 
over  the  change  of  weather,  bleating  to  his  companions  as 
though  breeding  time  were  come  round  again. 

Crowd  close,  little  snipes,  among  the  cup-moss  and 
wolf's  foot,  for  he  who  stalks  past  you  over  the  midnight 
moor,  meditates  a  foul  and  treacherous  murder  in  his 
heart. 

Yes,  it  had  come  to  that,  and  so  quickly.  He  would 
get  this  man  Lee,  who  held  his  life  in  his  hand,  and  was 
driving  him  on  from  crime  to  crime,  to  meet  him  alone  on 
the  moor  if  he  could,  and  shoot  him.  What  surety  had  he 
that  Lee  would  leave  him  in  peace  after  this  next  extor- 
tion ?  none  but  his  word,— the  word  of  a  villain  like  that. 
He  knew  what  his  own  word  was  worth  ;  what  wonder  if 
he  set  a  small  value  on  Lee's  ?  He  might  be  hung  as  it 
was ;  he  would  be  hung  for  something.  Taw  Steps  was 
a  wild  place,  and  none  were  likely  to  miss  either  Lee  or  his 
friend.  It  would  be  supposed  they  had  tramped  off  as 
they  came.  There  could  be  no  proof  against  him,  none 
whatever.  No  one  had  ever  seen  them  together.  They 
must  both  go.  Well,  two  men  were  no  worse  than  one. 
Hatherleigh  had  killed  four  men  with  his  own  hand  at 
Waterloo  ;  and  they  gave  him  a  medal  for  it.  They  were 
likely  honest  fellows  enough,  not  such  scoundrels  as  these 
two. 

So  arguing  confusedly  with  himself,  only  one  thing  cerr 

tain  in  his  mind,  that  he  was  committed  to  the  perpetration 

of  this  crime,  and  that  the  time  for  drawing  back  was 

passed  long  ago,  he  walked  rapidly  onwards  towards  the 

39 


The  Recollections  of 

little  village  where  he  had  left  his  horse  in  an  outhouse, 
fearing  to  trust  him  among  the  dangerous  bogs  which 
he  had  himself  to  cross  to  gain  the  rendezvous  at  Taw 
Steps. 

He  rapidly  cleared  the  moor,  and  soon  gained  the  little 
grey  street,  lying  calm  and  peaceful  beneath  the  bright 
winter  moon,  which  was  only  now  and  then  obscured  for 
a  moment  by  the  last  flying  clouds  of  the  late  storm  hurry- 
ing after  their  fellows.  The  rill  which  ran  brawling  loud 
through  the  village,  swollen  by  the  late  rains,  at  length 
forced  on  his  perception  that  he  was  fearfully  thirsty,  and 
that  his  throat  was  parched  and  dry. 

"  This  is  the  way  men  feel  in  hell,  I  think,"  said  he. 
"  Lord  !  let  me  get  a  drink  while  I  can.  The  rich  man  old 
Jack  reads  about  couldn't  get  one  for  all  his  money." 

He  walked  up  to  a  stone  horse-trough,  a  little  off  the 
road.  He  stooped  to  drink,  and  started  back  with  an 
oath.  What  pale,  wild,  ghastly  face  was  that,  looking  at 
him  out  of  the  cool  calm  water  ?  Not  his  own,  surely. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  and,  having  drunk  deep,  walked  on 
refreshed.  He  reached  the  outhouse  where  his  horse  was 
tied,  and,  as  he  was  leading  the  impatient  animal  forth, 
one  of  the  children  within  the  cottage  adjoining  woke  up 
and  began  to  cry.  He  waited  still  a  moment,  and  heard 
the  mother  arise  and  soothe  it ;  then  a  window  overhead 
opened,  and  a  woman  said — 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Hawker  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  said  he,  "  it's  me.     Come  for  the  horse." 

He  was  startled  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  It  was 
like  another  man's.  But  like  the  voice  of  some  one  he 
seemed  to  know,  too.  A  new  acquaintance. 

"  It  will  be  morn  soon,"  resumed  the  woman.  "  The 
child  is  much  worse,  to-night,  and  I  think  he'll  go  before 
daybreak.  Well,  well — much  sorrow  saved,  maybe.  I'll 
go  to  bed  no  more  to-night,  lest  my  boy  should  be  off 
while  I'm  sleeping.  Good  night,  sir.  God  bless  you. 
May  you  never  know  the  sorrow  of  losing  a  first-born." 
40 


Geoftry  Hamlyn 

Years  after  he  remembered  those  random  words.  But 
now  he  only  thought  that  if  the  brat  should  die,  there 
would  be  only  one  pauper  less  in  Bickerton.  And  so 
thinking,  mounted  and  rode  on  his  way. 

He  rode  fast,  and  was  soon  at  home.  He  had  put  his 
horse  in  the  stable,  and,  shoeless,  was  creeping  up  to  bed, 
when,  as  he  passed  his  father's  door,  it  opened,  and  the 
old  man  came  out,  light  in  hand. 

He  was  a  very  infirm  old  man,  much  bent,  though 
evidently  at  one  time  he  had  been  of  great  stature.  His 
retreating  forehead,  heavy  grey  eyebrows,  and  loose  sen- 
sual mouth,  rendered  him  no  pleasing  object  at  any  time, 
and,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway  now,  with  a  half  drunken 
satyr-like  leer  on  his  face,  he  looked  perfectly  hideous. 

"  Where's  my  pretty  boy  been  ?  "  he  piped  out.  "  How 
pale  he  looks.  Are  you  drunk,  my  lad  ?  " 

"  No  !  wish  I  was,"  replied  George.  "  Give  me  the  keys, 
dad,  and  let  me  get  a  drink  of  brandy.  I've  been  vexed, 
and  had  nought  to  drink  all  night.  I  shall  be  getting  the 
horrors  if  I  don't  have  something  before  I  go  to  bed." 

The  old  man  got  him  half  a  tumbler  of  brandy  from  his 
room,  where  there  was  always  some  to  be  had,  and  follow- 
ing him  into  his  room,  sat  down  on  the  bed. 

"  Who's  been  vexing  my  handsome  son  ?  "  said  he ; 
"  my  son  that  I've  been  waiting  up  for  all  night.  Death 
and  gallows  to  them,  whoever  they  are.  Is  it  that  pale- 
faced  little  parson's  daughter  ?  Or  is  it  her  tight-laced 
hypocrite  of  a  father,  that  comes  whining  here  with  his 
good  advice  to  me  who  know  the  world  so  well  ?  Never 
mind,  my  boy.  Keep  a  smooth  face,  and  play  the  hum- 
bug till  you've  got  her,  and  her  money,  and  then  break 
her  impudent  little  heart  if  you  will.  Go  to  sleep,  my  boy, 
and  dream  you  are  avenged  on  them  all." 

"  I  mean  to  be,  father,  on  some  of  them,  I  tell  you," 
replied  George. 

"  That's  right,  my  man.     Good  night." 

"  Good  night,  old  dad,"  said  George.     As  he  watched 


The  Recollections  of 

him  out  of  the  room,  a  kinder,  softer  expression  came  on 
his  face.  His  father  was  the  only  being  he  cared  for  in 
the  world. 

He  slept  a  heavy  and  dreamless  sleep  that  night,  and 
when  he  woke  for  the  first  time,  the  bright  winter's  sun 
was  shining  into  his  room,  and  morning  was  far  advanced. 

He  rose,  strengthened  and  refreshed  by  his  sleep,  with 
a  light  heart.  He  began  whistling  as  he  dressed  himself, 
but  suddenly  stopped,  as  the  recollection  of  the  night  be- 
fore came  upon  him.  Was  it  a  reality,  or  only  a  dream  ? 
No  ;  it  was  true  enough.  He  has  no  need  to  whistle  this 
morning.  He  is  entangled  in  a  web  of  crime  and  guilt 
from  which  there  is  no  escape. 

He  dressed  himself,  and  went  forth  into  the  fresh  morn- 
ing air  for  a  turn,  walking  up  and  down  on  the  broad 
gravel  walk  before  the  dark  old  porch. 

A  glorious  winter's  morning.  The  dismal  old  stone- 
house,  many-gabled,  held  aloft  its  tall  red  chimneys 
towards  the  clear  blue  sky,  and  looked  bright  and  pleas- 
ant in  the  sunshine.  The  deep  fir  and  holly  woods  which 
hemmed  it  in  on  all  sides,  save  in  front,  were  cheerful 
with  sloping  gleams  of  sunlight,  falling  on  many  a  patch 
of  green  moss,  red  fern,  and  bright  brown  last  year's 
leaves.  In  front,  far  below  him,  rolled  away  miles  of  un- 
broken woodland,  and  in  the  far  distance  rose  the  moor,  a 
dim  cloud  of  pearly  grey. 

A  robin  sat  and  sung  loud  beside  him,  sole  songster 
left  in  the  wintry  woods,  but  which  said,  as  plain  as  bird 
could  say,  could  he  have  understood  it,  "  See,  the  birds  are 
not  all  dead  in  this  dreary  winter  time.  I  am  still  here,  a 
pledge  from  my  brothers.  When  yon  dim  grey  woods 
grow  green,  and  the  brown  hollows  are  yellow  with  king- 
cups and  primroses,  the  old  melody  you  know  so  well 
shall  begin  again,  and  the  thrush  from  the  oak  top  shall 
answer  to  the  golden-toned  blackbird  in  the  copse,  saying 
— '  Our  mother  is  not  dead,  but  has  been  sleeping.  She 
is  awake  again — let  all  the  land  rejoice.'  " 
42 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Little  part  had  that  poor  darkened  mind  in  such 
thoughts  as  these.  If  any  softening  influence  were  upon 
him  this  morning,  he  gave  no  place  to  it.  The  robin 
ceased,  and  he  only  heard  the  croak  of  a  raven,  an  old  in- 
habitant of  these  wild  woods,  coming  from  the  darkest 
and  tallest  of  the  fir-trees.  Then  he  saw  his  father  ap- 
proaching along  the  garden  walk. 

One  more  chance  for  thee,  unhappy  man.  Go  up  to 
him  now,  and  tell  him  all.  He  has  been  a  kind  father  to 
you,  with  all  his  faults.  Get  him  on  your  side,  and  you 
may  laugh  Lee  to  scorn.  Have  you  not  the  courage  to 
tell  him  ? 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  but  the  dread  of  his  father's 
burst  of  anger  kept  him  silent.  He  hardened  his  heart, 
and,  whistling,  waited  for  the  old  man  to  come  up. 

"  How  is  he  this  morning  ?  "  said  his  father.  "  What 
has  he  got  his  old  clothes  on  for,  and  such  fine  ones  as  he 
has  in  his  drawer  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  put  on  my  best  clothes  this  day, 
father  ?  " 

"  Aint'ee  going  down  to  revels  ?  " 

"  True,"  said  George.  "  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it. 
Yes  ;  I  shall  go  down,  of  course." 

"  Are  you  going  to  play  (wrestle)  ?  "  asked  the  father. 

"  Maybe  I  may.  But  come  in  to  breakfast.  Where's 
Madge  ?  " 

"  In-doors,"  said  the  father,  "  waiting  breakfast — mortal 
cross." 

"  Curse  her  crossness,"  said  George.  "  If  I  were  ye, 
dad,  I'd  kick  her  out  in  the  lane  next  time  she  got  on  one 
of  her  tantrums." 

A  tall  woman  about  forty  stepped  out  of  the  house  as 
he  uttered  these  words.  "  Ye  hear  what  he  says,  William 
Hawker,"  she  said.  "  Ye  hear  what  ye're  own  lawful  son 
says.  He'd  kick  me  out  in  the  lane.  And  ye'd  stand 
there  and  let  him,  ye  old  dog  ;  I  don't  doubt." 

"  Hush,  George,"  said  the  old  man.     "  You  don't  know 

43 


The  Recollections  of 

what  you're  saying,  boy.  Go  in,  Madge,  and  don't  be  a 
fool ;  you  bring  it  on  yourself." 

The  woman  turned  in  a  contemptuous  way  and  walked 
in.  She  was  a  very  remarkable  looking  person.  Tall  and 
upright,  at  least  six  feet  high,  with  swarthy  complexion, 
black  eyes,  and  coal-black  hair,  looped  up  loosely  in  a 
knot  behind.  She  must  have  been  very  beautiful  as  a 
young  girl,  but  was  now  too  fierce  and  hawkish  looking, 
though  you  would  still  call  her  handsome.  She  was  a 
full-blooded  gipsy,  of  one  of  the  best  families,  which,  how- 
ever, she  totally  denied.  When  I  say  that  she  bore  the 
worst  of  characters  morally,  and  had  the  reputation  be- 
sides of  being  a  witch  of  the  highest  acquirements, — a 
sort  of  double  first  at  Satan's  university, — I  have  said  all 
I  need  to  say  about  her  at  present. 

These  three  sat  down  to  breakfast,  not  before  each  of 
them,  however,  had  refreshed  themselves  with  a  dram. 
All  the  meal  through,  the  old  man  and  Madge  were 
quarrelling  with  one  another,  till  at  length  the  contest 
grew  so  fierce  that  George  noticed  it,  a  thing  he  very  sel- 
dom took  the  trouble  to  do. 

"  I  tell  thee,"  said  the  old  man,  "  ye'll  get  no  more 
money  this  week.  What  have  'ee  done  with  the  last  five 
pounds  ?  " 

George  knew  well  enough,  she  had  given  it  to  him. 
Many  a  time  did  she  contrive  to  let  him  have  a  pound  or 
two,  and  blind  the  old  man  as  to  where  it  was  gone.  The 
day  before  he  had  applied  to  her  for  some  money  and  she 
had  refused,  and  in  revenge,  George  had  recommended 
his  father  to  turn  her  out,  knowing  that  she  could  hear 
every  word,  and  little  meaning  it  in  reality. 

"  Ye  stingy  old  beast"  she  replied,  very  slowly  and  dis- 
tinctly, "  I  wish  ye  were  dead  and  out  of  the  way.  I'll  be 
doing  it  myself  some  of  those  odd  times."  And  looking 
at  him  fixedly  and  pointing  her  finger,  she  began  the  He- 
brew alphabet — Aleph,  Beth,  &c.  from  the  ii9th  Psalm. 

"  I  won't  have  it,"  screamed  the  old  man.     "  Stop,  or 

44 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

I'll  kill  you,  I  will !     George,  you  won't  see   your 

father  took  before  your  eyes.     Stop  her  !  " 

"  Come,  quiet,  old  girl ;  none  of  that ;  "  said  George,  tak- 
ing her  round  the  waist  and  putting  his  hand  before  her 
mouth.  "  Be  reasonable  now."  She  continued  to  look 
at  the  old  man  with  a  smile  of  triumph  for  a  short  time, 
and  then  said,  with  a  queer  laugh  : 

"  It's  lucky  you  stopped  me.  Oh,  very  lucky  indeed. 
Now,  are  you  going  to  give  the  money,  you  old  Jew  ?  " 

She  had  carried  the  day,  and  the  old  man  sulkily  ac- 
quiesced. George  went  up  stairs,  and  having  dressed 
himself  to  his  taste,  got  on  horseback  and  rode  down  to 
the  village,  which  was  about  three  miles. 

This  was  the  day  of  the  Revels,  which  corresponds 
pretty  well  with  what  is  called  in  other  parts  of  England 
a  pleasure  fair ;  that  is  to  say,  although  some  business 
might  be  done,  yet  it  was  only  a  secondary  object  to 
amusement. 

The  main  village  of  Drumston  was  about  a  mile  from 
the  church  which  I  have  before  noticed,  and  consisted  of 
a  narrow  street  of  cob-houses,  whitewashed  and  thatched, 
crossing  at  right  angles,  by  a  little  stone  bridge,  over  a 
pretty,  clear  trout-stream.  All  around  the  village,  im- 
mediately behind  the  backs  of  the  houses,  rose  the  abrupt 
red  hills,  divided  into  fields  by  broad  oak  hedges,  thickly 
set  with  elms.  The  water  of  the  stream,  intercepted  at 
some  point  higher  up,  was  carried  round  the  crown  of  the 
hills  for  the  purposes  of  irrigation,  which,  even  at  this 
dead  season,  showed  its  advantages  by  the  brilliant  em- 
erald green  of  the  tender  young  grass  on  the  hillsides. 
Drumston,  in  short,  was  an  excellent  specimen  of  a  close, 
dull,  dirty,  and,  I  fear,  not  very  healthy  Devonshire  village 
in  the  red  country. 

On  this  day  the  main  street,  usually  in  a  state  of  ancle- 
deep  mud  six  months  in  the  year,  was  churned  and  pound- 
ed into  an  almost  knee-deep  state,  by  four  or  five  hundred 
hobnail  shoes  in  search  of  amusement.  The  amusements 

45 


The  Recollections  of 

were  various.  Drinking  (very  popular),  swearing  (ditto), 
quarrelling,  eating  pastry  ginger-bread  and  nuts  (female 
pastime),  and  looking  at  a  filthy  Italian,  leading  a  still 
more  filthy  monkey,  who  rode  on  a  dog  (the  only  honest 
one  of  the  three).  This  all  day,  till  night  dropped  down 
on  a  scene  of  drunkenness  and  vice,  which  we  had  better 
not  seek  to  look  at  further.  Surely,  if  ever  man  was  right, 
old  Joey  Bender,  the  Methodist  shoemaker,  was  right, 
when  he  preached  against  the  revels  for  four  Sundays 
running,  and  said  roundly  that  he  would  sooner  see  all 
his  congregation  leave  him  and  go  up  to  the  steeple-house 
(church)  in  a  body,  than  that  they  should  attend  such  a 
crying  abomination. 

The  wrestling,  the  only  honest  sensible  amusement  to 
be  had,  was  not  in  much  favour  at  Drumston.  Such 
wrestling  as  there  was  was  carried  on  in  a  little  croft  be- 
hind the  principal  of  the  public-houses,  for  some  trifling 
prize,  given  by  the  publicans.  Into  this  place,  James 
Stockbridge  and  myself  had  wandered  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  day  in  question,  having  come  down  to  the  revel  to 
see  if  we  could  find  some  one  we  wanted. 

There  was  a  small  ring  of  men  watching  the  perform- 
ances, and  talking,  each  and  all  of  them,  not  to  his  neigh- 
bour, or  to  himself,  but  to  the  ambient  air,  in  the  most  un- 
intelligible Devonshire  jargon,  rendered  somewhat  more 
barbarous  than  usual  by  intoxication.  Frequently  one  of 
them  would  address  one  of  the  players  in  language  more 
forcible  than  choice,  as  he  applauded  some  piece  of  finesse, 
or  condemned  some  clumsiness  on  the  part  of  the  two 
youths  who  were  struggling  about  in  the  centre,  under 
the  impression  they  were  wrestling.  There  were  but  two 
moderate  wrestlers  in  the  parish,  and  those  two  were 
George  Hawker  and  James  Stockbridge.  And  James  and 
myself  had  hardly  arrived  on  the  ground  two  minutes,  be- 
fore George,  coming  up,  greeted  us. 

After  a  few  common-place  civilities,  he  challenged 
James  to  play.  "  Let  us  show  these  muffs  what  play  is," 
46 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

said  he  ;  "  it's  a  disgrace  to  the  county  to  see  such 
work." 

James  had  no  objection  ;  so,  having  put  on  the  jackets, 
they  set  to  work  to  the  great  admiration  of  the  bystanders, 
one  of  whom,  a  drunken  tinker,  expressed  his  applause  in 
such  remarkable  language  that  I  mildly  asked  him  to  de- 
sist, which  of  course  made  him  worse. 

The  two  wrestlers  made  very  pretty  play  of  it  for  some 
time,  till  James,  feinting  at  some  outlandish  manoeuvre, 
put  George  on  his  back  by  a  simple  trip,  akin  to  scholar 's- 
mate  at  chess. 

George  fell  heavily,  for  they  were  both  heavy  men.  He 
rose  from  the  ground  and  walked  to  where  his  coat  was, 
sulkily.  James  thinking  he  might  have  been  hurt,  went 
up  to  speak  to  him  ;  but  the  other,  greeting  him  with  an 
oath,  turned  and  walked  away  through  the  crowd. 

He  was  in  a  furious  passion,  and  he  went  on  to  the  little 
bridge  that  crossed  the  stream.  We  saw  him  standing 
looking  into  the  water  below,  when  a  short  light-looking 
man  came  up  to  him,  and  having  spoken  to  him  for  a  few 
minutes,  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  Exeter,  at  a  steady, 
rapid  pace. 

That  man  was  Dick,  the  companion  of  Lee  (I  knew  all 
this  afterwards).  George  was  standing  as  I  have  de- 
scribed on  the  bridge,  when  he  came  up  to  him,  and  touch- 
ing him,  said : 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  a  moment,  Mr.  Hawker." 

George  turned  round,  and  when  he  saw  who  it  was, 
asked,  angrily, 

"  What  the do  you  want  ?  " 

"  No  offence,  sir.  You  see,  I'm  in  trouble,  there's  a 
warrant  out  against  me,  and  I  must  fly.  I  am  as  hard-up 
as  a  poor  cove  could  be ;  can  you  give  me  a  trifle  to  help 
me  along  the  road  ?  " 

Here  was  a  slice  of  good  luck ;  to  get  rid  of  this  one  so 
easily.  George  gave  him  money,  and  having  wished  him 
farewell,  watched  him  striding  steadily  up  the  long  hill 
47 


The  Recollections  of 

towards  Exeter  with  great  satisfaction ;  then  he  went 
back  to  the  public- house,  and  sat  drinking  an  hour  or 
more.  At  last  he  got  out  his  horse  to  ride  homeward. 

The  crowd  about  the  public-house  door  was  as  thick  as 
ever,  and  the  disturbance  greater.  Some  of  the  women 
were  trying  to  get  their  drunken  husbands  home,  one  man 
had  fallen  down  dead-drunk  beside  the  door  in  the  mud, 
and  his  wife  was  sitting  patiently  beside  him.  Several 
girls  were  standing  wearily  about  the  door,  dressed  in 
their  best,  each  with  a  carefully-folded  white-pocket-hand- 
kerchief in  her  hand  for  show,  and  not  for  use,  waiting  for 
their  sweethearts  to  come  forth  when  it  should  suit  them  ; 
while  inside  the  tap  all  was  a  wild  confusion  of  talk,  quar- 
relling, oaths,  and  smoke  enough  to  sicken  a  scavenger. 

These  things  are  changed  now,  or  are  changing,  year 
by  year.  Now  we  have  our  rural  policeman  keeping  some 
sort  of  order,  and  some  show  of  decency.  And  indeed 
these  little  fairs,  the  curse  of  the  country,  are  gradually 
becoming  extinct  by  the  exertions  of  a  more  energetic 
class  of  county  magistrates ;  and  though  there  is  probably 
the  same  amount  of  vice,  public  propriety  is  at  all  events 
more  respected.  I  think  I  may  say  that  I  have  seen  as 
bad,  or  even  worse,  scenes  of  drunkenness  and  disorder  at 
an  English  fair,  as  ever  I  have  in  any  Australian  mining 
town. 

George  Hawker  was  so  hemmed  in  by  the  crowd  that 
he  was  unable  to  proceed  above  a  foot's-pace.  He  was 
slowly  picking  his  way  through  the  people,  when  he  felt 
some  one  touching  him  on  the  leg,  and,  looking  round, 
saw  Lee  standing  beside  him. 

"  What,  Lee,  my  boy,  you  here  ?  "  said  he;  "I  have 
just  seen  your  amiable  comrade  —  he  seems  to  be  in 
trouble." 

"  Dick's  always  in  trouble,  Mr.  Hawker,"  replied  he. 
"  He  has  no  care  or  reason ;  he  isn't  a  bad  fellow,  but  I'm 
always  glad  when  he  is  out  of  my  way ;  I  don't  like  being 
seen  with  him.  This  is  likely  to  be  his  last  time,  though. 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

He  is  in  a  serious  scrape,  and,  by  way  of  getting  out  of  it, 
he  is  walking  into  Exeter,  along  the  high  road,  as  if  noth- 
ing was  the  matter.  There's  a  couple  of  traps  in  Belston 
after  him  now,  and  I  came  down  here  to  keep  secure. 
By-the-bye,  have  you  thought  of  that  little  matter  we  were 
talking  about  the  other  night  ?  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
don't  care  how  soon  I  am  out  of  this  part  of  the  country." 

"  Oh  !  ah  !  "  replied  George,  "  I've  thought  of  it,  and  it's 
all  right.  Can  you  be  at  the  old  place  the  day  after  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  That  can  I,"  said  Lee,  "  with  much  pleasure." 

"  You'll  come  alone  this  time,  I  suppose,"  said  George. 
"  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  share  our  little  matter  with 
the  whole  country  ?  " 

"  No  fear,  Mr.  George  ;  I  will  be  there  at  eight  punctual, 
and  alone." 

"  Well,  bye-bye,"  said  George,  and  rode  off. 

It  was  getting  late  in  the  evening  when  he  started,  and 
ere  he  reached  home  it  was  nearly  dark.  For  the  last 
mile  his  road  lay  through  forest-land  :  noble  oaks,  with  a 
plentiful  under-growth  of  holly,  over-shadowed  a  floor  of 
brown  leaves  and  red  fern ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  wood 
nearest  home,  where  the  oaks  joined  his  own  fir  planta- 
tions, one  mighty  gnarled  tree,  broader  and  older  than  all 
the  rest,  held  aloft  its  withered  boughs  against  the  frosty 
sky. 

This  oak  was  one  of  the  bogie  haunts  of  the  neighbour- 
hood. All  sorts  of  stories  were  told  about  it,  all  of  which 
George,  of  course,  believed  ;  so  that  when  his  horse  started 
and  refused  to  move  forward,  and  when  he  saw  a  dark 
figure  sitting  on  the  twisted  roots  of  the  tree,  he  grew  sud- 
denly cold,  and  believed  he  had  seen  a  ghost. 

The  figure  rose,  and  stalked  towards  him  through  the 
gathering  gloom  ;  he  saw  that  it  held  a  baby  in  its  arms, 
and  that  it  was  tall  and  noble-looking.  Then  a  new  fear 
took  possession  of  him,  not  supernatural ;  and  he  said  in  a 
low  voice—"  Ellen  !  " 

49 


The  Recollections  of 

"  That  was  my  name  once,  George  Hawker,"  replied 
she,  standing  beside  him,  and  laying  her  hand  upon  his 
horse's  shoulder.  "  I  don't  know  what  my  name  is  now, 
I'm  sure;  it  surely  can't  remain  the  same,  and  me  so  al- 
tered." 

"  What  on  earth  brings  you  back  just  at  this  time,  in 
God's  name  ?  "  asked  George. 

"  Hunger,  cold,  misery,  drunkenness,  disease.  Those 
are  the  merry  companions  that  lead  me  back  to  my  old 
sweetheart.  Look  here,  George,  should  you  know  him 
again  ?  " 

She  held  up  a  noble  child  about  a  year  old,  for  him  to 
look  at.  The  child,  disturbed  from  her  warm  bosom,  be- 
gan to  wail. 

"  What !  cry  to  see  your  father,  child  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  See  what  a  bonnie  gentleman  he  is,  and  what  a  pretty 
horse  he  rides,  while  we  tread  along  through  the  mire." 

"  What  have  you  come  to  me  for,  Ellen  ? "  asked 
George.  "  Do  you  know  that  if  you  are  seen  about  here 
just  now  you  may  do  me  a  great  injury  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  George,"  she  replied  ;  "  but 
I  must  have  money.  I  cannot  work,  and  I  dare  not  show 
my  face  here.  Can't  you  take  me  in  to-night,  George, 
only  just  to-night,  and  let  me  lie  by  the  fire?  I'll  go  in 
the  morning ;  but  I  know  it's  going  to  freeze,  and  I  do 
dread  the  long  cold  hours  so.  I  have  lain  out  two  nights, 
now,  and  I  had  naught  to  eat  all  day.  Do'ee  take  me  in, 
George  ;  for  old  love's  sake,  do  !  " 

She  was  his  own  cousin,  an  orphan,  brought  up  in  the 
same  house  with  him  by  his  father.  Never  very  strong  in 
her  mind,  though  exceedingly  pretty,  she  had  been  early 
brought  to  ruin  by  George.  On  the  birth  of  a  boy,  about 
a  year  before,  the  old  man's  eyes  were  opened  to  what 
was  going  on,  and  in  a  furious  rage  he  turned  her  out  of 
doors,  and  refused  ever  to  see  her  again.  George,  to  do 
him  justice,  would  have  married  her,  but  his  father  told 
him,  if  he  did  so,  he  should  leave  the  house  with  her.  So 
50 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

the  poor  thing  had  gone  away  and  tried  to  get  needlework 
in  Exeter,  but  her  health  failing,  and  George  having  ceased 
to  answer  all  applications  from  her,  she  had  walked  over, 
and  lurked  about  in  the  woods  to  gain  an  interview  with 
him. 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his,  and  he  felt  it  was  deadly  cold. 
"  Put  my  coat  over  your  shoulders,  Nelly,  and  wait  an  in- 
stant while  I  go  and  speak  to  Madge.  I  had  better  let  her 
know  you  are  coming  ;  then  we  shan't  have  any  trouble." 

He  rode  quickly  through  the  plantation,  and  gave  his 
horse  to  a  boy  who  waited  in  front  of  the  door.  In  the 
kitchen  he  found  Madge  brooding  over  the  fire,  with  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  and  without  raising  her  head  or  turn- 
ing round,  she  said : 

"  Home  early,  and  sober  !  what  new  mischief  are  you 
up  to  ?  " 

"  None,  Madge,  none !  but  here's  the  devil  to  pay. 
Ellen's  come  back.  She's  been  lying  out  these  three 
nights,  and  is  awful  hard  up.  It's  not  my  fault,  I  have 
sent  her  money  enough,  in  all  conscience." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  inquired  Madge,  curtly. 

"  Outside,  in  the  plantation." 

"  Why  don't  you  bring  her  in,  you  treacherous  young 
wolf  ?  "  replied  she.  "  What  did  you  bring  her  to  shame 
for,  if  you  are  going  to  starve  her  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  fetch  her  in,"  said  George,  indignantly ; 
"  only  I  wanted  to  find  out  what  your  temper  was  like, 
you  vicious  old  cow.  How  did  I  know  but  what  you 
would  begin  some  of  your  tantrums,  and  miscall  her  ?  " 

"  No  fear  o'  that !  no  fear  of  pots  and  kettles  with  me  ! 
lead  her  in,  lad,  before  she's  frozen  \" 

George  went  back  for  her,  and  finding  her  still  in  the 
same  place,  brought  her  in.  Madge  was  standing  erect 
before  the  fire,  and,  walking  up  to  the  unfortunate  Ellen, 
took  her  baby  from  her,  and  made  her  sit  before  the 
fire. 

"  Better  not  face  the  old  man,"  said  she  ;  "  he's  away  to 


The  Recollections  of 

the  revels,  and  he'll  come  home  drunk.  Make  yourself 
happy  for  to-night,  at  all  events." 

The  poor  thing  began  to  cry,  which  brought  on  such  a 
terrible  fit  of  coughing  that  Madge  feared  she  would  rupt- 
ure a  blood-vessel.  She  went  to  get  her  a  glass  of  wine, 
and  returned  with  a  candle,  and  then  for  the  first  time, 
they  saw  what  a  fearful  object  she  was. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said  to  George,  "  you  see  what  I  am  now. 
I  ain't  long  for  this  world.  Only  keep  me  from  worse, 
George,  while  I  am  alive,  and  do  something  for  the  boy 
afterwards,  and  I  am  content.  You're  going  to  get  mar- 
ried, I  know,  and  I  wish  you  well.  But  don't  forget  this 
poor  little  thing  when  it's  motherless.  If  you  do,  and  let 
him  fall  into  vice,  you'll  never  be  lucky,  George." 

"  Oh,  you  ain't  going  to  die,  old  Nelly,"  said  George  ; 
"  not  for  many  years  yet.  You're  pulled  down,  and  thin, 
but  you'll  pick  up  again  with  the  spring.  Now,  old  girl, 
get  some  supper  out  before  he  comes  home." 

They  gave  her  supper,  and  put  her  to  bed.  In  the 
morning,  very  early,  George  heard  the  sound  of  wheels 
below  his  bedroom  window ;  and  looking  out,  saw  that 
Madge  was  driving  out  of  the  yard  in  a  light  cart,  and, 
watching  her  closely,  saw  her  pick  up  Ellen  and  the  child 
just  outside  the  gate.  Then  he  went  to  bed  again,  and, 
when  he  awoke,  he  heard  Madge's  voice  below,  and  knew 
she  was  come  back. 

He  went  down,  and  spoke  to  her.  "  Is  she  gone  ?  "  he 
asked. 

"  In  course  she  is,"  replied  Madge.  "  Do  you  think  I 
was  going  to  let  her  stay  till  the  old  man  was  about  ?  " 

"  How  much  money  did  you  give  her,  besides  what  she 
had  from  me  ?  " 

"  I  made  it  five  pounds  in  all ;  that  will  keep  her  for 
some  time,  and  then  you  must  send  her  some  more.  If 
you  let  that  wench  starve,  you  ought  to  be  burnt  alive.  A 
man  would  have  married  her  in  spite  of  his  father." 

"  A  likely  story,"  said  George,  "  that  I  was  to  disin- 
52 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

herit  myself  for  her.  However,  she  shan't  want  at  present, 
or  we  shall  have  her  back  again.  And  that  won't  do,  you 
know." 

"  George,"  said  Madge,  "  you  promise  to  be  as  great  a 
rascal  as  your  father." 

The  old  man  had,  as  Madge  prophesied,  come  home 
very  drunk  the  night  before,  and  had  lain  in  bed  later  than 
usual,  so  that,  when  he  came  to  breakfast,  he  found 
George,  gun  in  hand,  ready  to  go  out. 

"  Going  shooting,  my  lad  ?  "  said  the  father.  "  Where 
be  going  ?  " 

"Down  through  the  hollies  for  a  woodcock.  I'll  get 
one  this  morning,  it's  near  full  moon." 

All  the  morning  they  heard  him  firing  in  the  bottom 
below  the  house,  and  at  one  o'clock  he  came  home, 
empty-handed. 

"  Why,  George  !  "  said  his  father,  "  what  hast  thee  been 
shooting  at  ?  I  thought  'ee  was  getting  good  sport." 

"  I've  been  shooting  at  a  mark,"  he  replied. 

"  Who  be  going  to  shoot  now,  eh,  George  ?  "  asked  the 
old  man. 

"  No  one  as  I  know  of,"  he  replied. 

"  Going  over  to  Eggesford,  eh,  Georgey  ?  This  nice  full 
moon  is  about  the  right  thing  for  thee.  They  Fellowes  be 
good  fellows  to  keep  a  fat  haunch  for  their  neighbours." 

George  laughed,  as  he  admitted  the  soft  impeachment 
of  deer-stealing,  but  soon  after  grew  sullen,  and  all  the 
afternoon  sat  over  the  fire  brooding  and  drinking.  He 
went  to  bed  early,  and  had  just  got  off  his  boots,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  Madge  came  in. 

"  What's  up  to  now,  old  girl  ?  "  said  George. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  be  up  to,  eh  ?  "  she  asked, 
"  with  your  gun  ?  " 

"  Only  going  to  get  an  outlying  deer,"  said  he. 

"  That's  folly  enough,  but  there's  a  worse  folly  than 
that.  It's  worse  folly  to  wipe  out  money-scores  in  blood. 
It's  a  worse  folly  if  you  are  in  a  difficulty  to  put  your- 

53 


The  Recollections  of 

self  in  a  harder  one  to  get  out  of  the  first.  It's  a 
worse — " 

"  Why,  you're  mad,"  broke  in  George.  "  Do  you  think 
I  am  fool  enough  to  make  away  with  one  of  the  keepers  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  fool  enough  to  do.  Only 
mind  my  words  before  it's  too  late." 

She  went  out,  and  left  him  sitting  moodily  on  the  bed. 
"  What  a  clever  woman  she  is,"  he  mused.  "  How  she 
hits  a  thing  off.  She's  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  I've  a 
good  mind  to  ask  her  advice.  I'll  think  about  it  to-mor- 
row morning." 

But  on  the  morrow  they  quarrelled  about  something  or 
another,  and  her  advice  was  never  asked.  George  was 
moody  and  captious  all  day  ;  and  at  evening,  having  drunk 
hard,  he  slipped  off,  and,  gun  in  hand,  rode  away  through 
the  darkening  woods  towards  the  moor. 

It  was  dark  before  he  had  got  clear  of  the  labyrinth  of. 
lanes  through  which  he  took  his  way.  His  horse  he 
turned  out  in  a  small  croft  close  to  where  the  heather 
began  ;  and,  having  hid  the  saddle  and  bridle  in  a  hedge, 
strode  away  over  the  moor  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder. 

He  would  not  think  ;  he  would  sooner  whistle ;  distance 
seemed  like  nothing  to  him ;  and  he  was  surprised  and 
frightened  to  find  himself  already  looking  over  the  deep 
black  gulf  through  which  the  river  ran  before  he  thought 
he  was  half-way  there. 

He  paused  to  look  before  he  began  to  descend.  A  faint 
light  still  lingered  in  the  frosty  sky  to  the  southwest,  and 
majestic  Yestor  rose  bold  and  black  against  it.  Down 
far,  far  beneath  his  feet  was  the  river,  dimly  heard,  but 
not  seen  ;  and,  as  he  looked  to  where  it  should  be,  he  saw 
a  little  flickering  star,  which  arrested  his  attention.  That 
must  be  Lee's  fire — there  he  began  to  descend. 

Boldly  at  first,  but  afterwards  more  stealthily,  and  now- 
more  silently  still,  for  the  fire  is  close  by,  and  it  were  well 
to  give  him  no  notice.  It  is  in  the  old  place,  and  he  can 
see  it  now,  not  ten  yards  before  him,  between  two  rocks. 

54 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Nearer  yet  a  little,  with  cat-like  tread.  There  is  Lee, 
close  to  the  fire,  sitting  on  the  ground,  dimly  visible,  yet 
clearly  enough  for  his  purpose.  He  rests  the  gun  on  a 
rock,  and  takes  his  aim. 

He  is  pinioned  from  behind  by  a  vigorous  hand,  and  a 
voice  he  knows  cries  in  his  ear — "  Help,  Bill,  or  you'll  be 
shot !  " 

The  gun  goes  off  in  the  scuffle,  but  hurts  nobody,  and 
Lee  running  up,  George  finds  the  tables  completely  turned, 
and  himself  lying,  after  a  few  desperate  struggles,  help- 
lessly pinioned  on  the  ground. 

Dick  had  merely  blinded  him  by  appearing  to  go  to  Ex- 
eter. They  both  thought  it  likely  that  he  would  attack 
Lee,  but  neither  supposed  he  would  have  stolen  on  him  so 
treacherously.  Dick  had  just  noticed  him  in  time,  and 
sprung  upon  him,  or  Lee's  troubles  would  have  been  over 
for  ever. 

"  You  treacherous  young  sweep,  you  shall  hang  for 
this,"  were  Lee's  first  words.  "  Ten  thousand  pounds 
would  not  save  you  now.  Dick,  you're  a  jewel.  If  I 
had  listened  to  you,  I  shouldn't  have  trusted  my  life  to  the 
murdering  vagabond.  I'll  remember  to-night,  my  boy,  as 
long  as  I  live." 

Although  it  appeared  at  first  that  ten  thousand  pounds 
would  not  prevent  Lee  handing  George  over  to  justice, 
yet,  after  a  long  and  stormy  argument,  it  appeared  that 
the  lesser  sum  of  five  hundred  would  be  amply  sufficient 
to  stay  any  ulterior  proceedings,  provided  the  money  was 
forthcoming  in  a  week.  So  that  ultimately  George  found 
himself  at  liberty  again,  and,  to  his  great  astonishment,  in 
higher  spirits  than  he  could  have  expected. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  limped  back, 
lame  and  bruised,  "  I  have  not  got  that  on  my  mind. 
Even  if  this  other  thing  was  found  out,  there  is  a  chance 
of  getting  off.  Surely  my  own  father  wouldn't  prosecute 
— though  I  wouldn't  like  to  trust  to  it,  unless  I  got  Madge 
on  my  side." 

55 


The  Recollections  of 

His  father,  I  think  I  have  mentioned,  was  too  blind  to 
read,  and  George  used  to  keep  all  his  accounts ;  so  that 
nothing  would  seem  at  first  to  look  more  easy  than  to 
imitate  his  father's  signature,  and  obtain  what  money  he 
wished.  But  George  knew  well  that  the  old  man  was 
often  in  the  habit  of  looking  through  his  banker's  book, 
with  the  assistance  of  Madge,  so  that  he  was  quite  unsafe 
without  her.  His  former  embezzlement  he  had  kept  se- 
cret, by  altering  some  figure  in  the  banker's  book ;  but  this 
next  one,  of  such  a  much  larger  amount,  he  felt  somewhat 
anxious  about.  He,  however,  knew  his  woman  well,  and 
took  his  measures  accordingly. 

On  the  day  mentioned,  he  met  Lee,  and  gave  him  the 
money  agreed  on  ;  and  having  received  his  assurances 
that  he  valued  his  life  too  much  to  trouble  him  any  more, 
saw  him  depart,  fully  expecting  that  he  should  have 
another  application  at  an  early  date  ;  under  which  circum- 
stances, he  thought  he  would  take  certain  precautions 
which  should  be  conclusive. 

But  he  saw  Lee  no  more.  No  more  for  many,  many 
years.  But  how  and  when  they  met  again,  and  who  came 
off  best  in  the  end,  this  tale  will  truly  and  sufficiently  set 
forth  hereafter. 


Chapter  VI 1 

Major  Buckley  gives  his  Opinion  on  Trout-fishing,  on  Emigra- 
tion, and  on  George  Hawker 

SPRING  had  come  again,  after  a  long  wet  winter,  and 
every  orchard-hollow  blushed  once  more  with  apple-blos- 
soms. In  warm  sheltered  southern  valleys  hedges  were 
already  green,  and  even  the  tall  hedgerow-elms  began,  day 
after  day,  to  grow  more  shady  and  dense. 

It  was  a  bright  April  morning,  about  ten  o'clock,  when 
Mary  Thornton,  throwing  up  her  father's  study-window 
from  the  outside,  challenged  him  to  come  out  and  take  a 
56 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

walk  ;  and  John,  getting  his  hat  and  stick,  immediately 
joined  her  in  front  of  the  house. 

"  Where  is  your  aunt,  my  love?  "  said  John. 

"  She  is  upstairs,"  said  Mary.     "  I  will  call  her." 

She  began  throwing  gravel  at  one  of  the  upper  windows, 
and  crying  out,  "  Auntie  !  Auntie  !  " 

The  sash  was  immediately  thrown  (no,  that  is  too  vio- 
lent a  word — say  lifted)  up,  and  a  beautiful  old  lady's  face 
appeared  at  the  window. 

"  My  love,"  it  said,  in  a  small,  soft  voice,  "  pray  be  care- 
ful of  the  windows.  Did  you  want  anything,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  out  for  a  walk,  Auntie  ;  so  come  along." 

"  Certainly,  my  love.  Brother,  have  you  got  your  thick 
kerchief  in  your  pocket  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  I  have  not,  and  I  don't  mean  to 
have." 

Commencement  of  a  sore-throat  lecture  from  the  win- 
dow, cut  short  by  the  Vicar,  who  says, — 

"  My  dear,  I  shall  be  late  if  you  don't  come."  (Jesuit- 
ically  on  his  part,  for  he  was  going  nowhere.) 

So  she  comes  accordingly,  as  sweet-looking  an  old  maid 
as  ever  you  saw  in  your  life.  People  have  no  right  to  use 
up  such  beautiful  women  as  governesses.  It's  a  sheer 
waste  of  material.  Miss  Thornton  had  been  a  governess 
all  her  life ;  and  now,  at  the  age  of  five-and-forty,  had 
come  to  keep  her  brother's  house  for  him,  add  her  savings 
to  his,  and  put  the  finishing  touch  on  Mary's  somewhat 
rough  education. 

"  My  love,"  said  she,  "  I  have  brought  you  your  gloves." 

"  Oh,  indeed,  Auntie,  I  won't  wear  them,"  said  Mary. 
"  I  couldn't  be  plagued  with  gloves.  Nobody  wears  them 
here." 

"Mrs.  Buckley  wears  them,  and  it  would  relieve 'my 
mind  if  you  were  to  put  them  on,  my  dear.  I  fear  my 
lady's  end  was  accelerated  by,  unfortunately,  in  her  last 
illness,  catching  sight  of  Lady  Kate's  hands  after  she  had 
been  assisting  her  brother  to  pick  green  walnuts." 

57 


The  Recollections  of 

Mary  was  always  on  the  eve  of  laughing  at  these  aris- 
tocratic recollections  of  her  aunt ;  and  to  her  credit  be  it 
said,  she  always  restrained  herself,  though  with  great  dif- 
ficulty. She,  so  wildly  brought  up,  without  rule  or  guid- 
ance in  feminine  matters,  could  not  be  brought  to  com- 
prehend that  prim  line-and-rule  life,  of  which  her  aunt 
was  the  very  impersonation.  Nevertheless,  she  heard 
what  Miss  Thornton  had  to  say  with  respect ;  and  if  ever 
she  committed  an  extreme  gaitcherie,  calculated  to  set 
her  aunt's  teeth  on  edge,  she  always  discovered  what  was 
the  matter,  and  mended  it  as  far  as  she  was  able. 

They  stood  on  the  lawn  while  the  glove  controversy 
was  going  on,  and  a  glorious  prospect  there  was  that 
bright  spring  morning.  In  one  direction  the  eye  was  car- 
ried down  a  long,  broad,  and  rich  vale,  intersected  by  a 
gleaming  river,  and  all  the  way  down  set  thick  with  ham- 
let, farm,  and  church.  In  the  dim  soft  distance  rose  the 
two  massive  towers  of  a  cathedral,  now  filling  all  the 
country  side  with  the  gentle  melody  of  their  golden-toned 
bells,  while  beyond  them,  in  the  misty  south,  there  was  a 
gleam  in  the  horizon,  showing  where  the  sky 

"  Dipped  down  to  sea  and  sands." 

"  It's  as  soft  and  quiet  as  a  Sunday,"  said  the  Vicar ; 
"  and  what  a  fishing  day  !  I  have  half  a  mind — Hallo  ! 
look  here." 

The  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  appearance  on  the 
walk  of  a  very  tall  and  noble-looking  man,  about  thirty, 
leading  a  grey  pony,  on  which  sat  a  beautiful  woman  with 
a  child  in  her  arms.  Our  party  immediately  moved  for- 
ward to  meet  them,  and  a  most  friendly  greeting  took 
place  on  both  sides,  Mary  at  once  taking  possession  of  the 
child. 

This  was  Major  Buckley  and  his  wife  Agnes.  I  men- 
tioned before  that,  after  Clere  was  sold,  the  Major  had 
taken  a  cottage  in  Drumston,  and  was  a  constant  visitor 
on  the  Vicar ;  generally  calling  for  the  old  gentleman  to 
58 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

come  fishing  or  shooting,  and  leaving  his  wife  and  his 
little  son  Samuel  in  the  company  of  Mary  and  Miss  Thorn- 
ton. 

"  I  have  come,  Vicar,  to  take  you  out  fishing,"  said  he. 
"  Get  your  rod  and  come.  A  capital  day.  Why,  here's 
the  Doctor." 

So  there  was,  standing  among  them  before  any  one 
had  noticed  him. 

"  I  announce,"  said  he,  "  that  I  shall  accept  the  most 
agreeable  invitation  that  any  one  will  give  me.  What  are 
you  going  to  do,  Major?  " 

"  Going  fishing." 

"  Ah !  and  you,  madam  ?  "  turning  to  Miss  Thornton. 

"  I  am  going  to  see  Mrs.  Lee,  who  has  a  low  fever, 
poor  thing." 

"Which  Mrs.  Lee,  madam?  " 

"  Mrs.  Lee  of  Eyford." 

"  And  which  Mrs.  Lee  of  Eyford,  madam  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  James  Lee." 

"  Junior  or  senior  ?  "  persevered  the  Doctor. 

"  Junior,"  replied  Miss  Thornton,  laughing. 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Doctor,  "  now  we  have  it.  I  would 
suggest  that  all  the  Mrs.  Lees  in  the  parish  should  have  a 
ticket  with  a  number  on  it,  like  the  voituriers.  Buckley, 
lay  it  before  the  quarter-sessions.  If  you  say  the  idea 
came  from  a  foreigner,  they  will  adopt  it  immediately. 
Miss  Thornton,  I  will  do  myself  the  honour  of  accom- 
panying you,  and  examine  the  case." 

So  the  ladies  went  off  with  the  Doctor,  while  the  Vicar 
and  Major  Buckley  turned  to  go  fishing. 

"  I  shall  watch  you,  Major,  instead  of  fishing  myself," 
said  the  Vicar.  "  Where  do  you  propose  going  ?  " 

"  To  the  red  water,"  said  the  Major.  Accordingly  they 
turn  down  a  long,  deep  lane,  which  looks  certainly  as  if  it 
would  lead  one  to  a  red  brook,  for  the  road  and  banks  are 
ef  a  brick-colour.  And  so  it  does,  for  presently  before 
them  they  discern  a  red  mill,  and  a  broad,  pleasant  ford, 

59 


The  Recollections  of 

where  a  crystal  brook  dimples  and  sparkles  over  a  bed  of 
reddish-purple  pebbles. 

"  It  is  very  clear,"  says  the  Major.  "  What's  the  fly  to 
be,  Vicar  ?  " 

"  That's  a  very  hard  question  to  answer,"  says  the  Vic- 
ar. "  Your  Scotchman,  eh  ?  or  a  small  blue  dun  ?  " 

"  We'll  try  both,"  says  the  Major  :  and  in  a  very  short 
time  it  becomes  apparent  that  the  small  dun  is  the  man, 
for  the  trout  seem  to  think  that -it  is  the  very  thing  they 
have  been  looking  for  all  day,  and  rise  at  it  two  at  a 
time. 

They  fish  downwards ;  and  after  killing  half-a-dozen 
half-pound  fish,  come  to  a  place  where  another  stream 
joins  the  first,  making  it  double  its  original  size,  and  here 
there  is  a  great  oak -root  jutting  into  a  large  deep  pool. 

The  Vicar  stands  back,  intensely  excited.  This  is  a 
sure  place  for  a  big  fish.  The  Major,  eager  but  cool, 
stoops  down  and  puts  his  flies  in  just  above  the  root  at 
once  ;  not  as  a  greenhorn  would,  taking  a  few  wide  casts 
over  the  pool  first,  thereby  standing  a  chance  of  hooking 
a  little  fish,  and  ruining  his  chance  for  a  big  one  ;  and  at 
the  second  trial  a  deep-bodied  brown  fellow,  about  two 
pounds,  dashes  at  the  treacherous  little  blue,  and  gulps 
him  down. 

Then  what  a  to-do  is  there.  The  Vicar  jumping  about 
on  the  grass,  giving  all  sorts  of  contradictory  advice.  The 
Major,  utterly  despairing  of  ever  getting  his  fish  ashore, 
fighting  a  losing  battle  with  infinite  courage,  determined 
that  the  trout  shall  remember  him,  at  all  events,  if  he  does 
get  away.  And  the  trout,  furious  and  indignant,  but  not 
in  the  least  frightened,  trying  vainly  to  get  back  to  the 
old  root.  Was  there  ever  such  a  fish  ? 

But  the  Major  is  the  best  man,  for  after  ten  minutes 
troutie  is  towed  up  on  his  side  to  a  convenient  shallow, 
and  the  Vicar  puts  on  his  spectacles  to  see  him  brought 
ashore.  He  scientifically  pokes  him  in  the  flank,  and 
spans  him  across  the  back,  and  pronounces  ex  cathedra — 
60 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  You'll  find,  sir,  there  won't  be  a  finer  fish,  take  him 
all  in  all,  killed  in  the  parish  this  season." 

"  Ah,  it's  a  noble  sport,"  says  the  Major.  "  I  shan't 
get  much  more  of  it,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Why  shouldn't  you?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  says  the  Major.  "  Do  you  know 
how  much  property  I  have  got  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed." 

"  I  have  only  ten  thousand  pounds ;  and  how  am  I  to 
bring  up  a  family  on  the  interest  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  should  fancy  it  was  quite  enough  for  you,"  said  the 
Vicar  ;  "  you  have  only  one  son." 

"  How  many  more  am  I  likely  to  have,  eh  ?  And  how 
should  I  look  to  find  myself  at  sixty  with  five  boys  grown 
up,  and  only  3oo/.  a-year  ?  " 

"  That  is  rather  an  extreme  case,"  said  the  Vicar  ;  "  you 
would  be  poor  then,  certainly." 

"  Just  what  I  don't  want  to  be.  Besides  wanting  to 
make  some  money,  I  am  leading  an  idle  life  here,  and  am 
getting  very  tired  of  it.  And  so — "  he  hesitated. 

"  And  so  ?  "  said  the  Vicar. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  emigrating.  To  New  South  Wales. 
To  go  into  the  sheep-farming  line.  There." 

"  There  indeed,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  And  what  has  put 
you  up  to  it?  " 

"  Why,  my  wife  and  I  have  been  thinking  of  going  to 
Canada  for  some  time,  and  so  the  idea  is  not  altogether 
new.  The  other  day  Hamlyn  (you  know  him)  showed 
me  a  letter  from  a  cousin  of  his  who  is  making  a  good 
deal  of  money  there.  Having  seen  that  letter,  I  was  much 
struck  with  it,  and  having  made  a  great  many  other  in- 
quiries, I  laid  the  whole  information  before  my  wife  and 
begged  her  to  give  me  her  opinion." 

"  And  she  recommended  you  to  stay  at  home  in  peace 
and  comfort,"  interposed  the  Vicar. 

"  On  the  contrary,  she  said  she  thought  we  ought  by  all 
means  to  go,"  returned  the  Major. 
6 1 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Wonderful,  indeed.     And  when  shall  you  go  ?  " 

"  Not  for  some  time,  I  think.     Not  for  a  year." 

"  I  hope  not.  What  a  lonely  old  man  I  shall  be  when 
you  are  all  gone." 

"  Nay,  Vicar,  I  hope  not,"  said  the  Major.  "  You  will 
stay  behind  to  see  your  daughter  happily  married,  and  your 
grandchildren  about  your  knees." 

The  Vicar  sighed  heavily,  and  the  Major  continued. 

"  By-the-bye,  Miss  Thornton  seems  to  have  made  a 
conquest  already.  Young  Hawker  seems  desperately 
smitten  :  did  it  ever  strike  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  has  struck  me ;  very  deep  indeed,"  said  the 
Vicar  ;  "  but  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  surely  would  not  allow  her  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  prevent  it  ?  She  is  her  own  mistress,  and 
I  never  could  control  her  yet.  How  can  I  control  her 
when  her  whole  heart  and  soul  is  set  on  him  ?  " 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  the  Major,  "  do  you  really  think  she 
cares  for  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she  loves  him  with  her  whole  heart.  I  have  seen 
it  a  long  while." 

"  My  dear  friend,  you  should  take  her  away  for  a  short 
time,  and  see  if  she  will  forget  him.  Anything  sooner 
than  let  her  marry  him." 

"  Why  should  she  not  marry  him  ?  "  said  the  Vicar. 
"  She  is  only  a  farmer's  grand-daughter.  We  are  nobody, 
you  know." 

"  But  he  is  not  of  good  character." 

"  Oh,  there  is  nothing  more  against  him  than  there  is 
against  most  young  fellows.  He  will  reform  and  be 
steady.  Do  you  know  anything  special  against  him  ?  " 
asked  the  Vicar. 

"  Not  actually  against  him  ;  but  just  conceive,  my  dear 
friend,  what  a  family  to  marry  into  !  His  father — I  speak 
the  plain  truth — is  a  most  disreputable,  drunken  old  man, 
living  in  open  sin  with  a  gipsy  woman  of  the  worst  char- 
acter, by  whom  George  Hawker  has  been  brought  up. 
62 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

What  an  atmosphere  of  vice  !  The  young  fellow  himself 
is  universally  disliked,  and  distrusted  too,  all  over  the 
village.  Can  you  forgive  me  for  speaking  so  plain  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  forgiveness  necessary,  my  good  friend  ;  " 
said  the  Vicar.  "  I  know  how  kind  your  intentions  are. 
But  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  have  a  useless  quarrel  with 
my  daughter  merely  because  I  happen  to  dislike  the  object 
of  her  choice.  It  would  be  quite  a  useless  quarrel.  She 
has  always  had  her  own  way,  and  always  will." 

"  What  does  Miss  Thornton  say?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"  Nothing,  she  never  does  say  anything.  She  regards 
Hawker  as  Mary's  accepted  suitor ;  and  though  she  may 
think  him  vulgar,  she  would  sooner  die  than  commit  her- 
self so  far  as  to  say  so.  She  has  been  so  long  under 
others,  and  without  an  opinion  save  theirs,  that  she  cannot 
form  an  opinion  at  all." 

They  had  turned  and  were  walking  home,  when  the 
Vicar,  sticking  his  walking-cane  upright  in  the  grass,  began 
again. 

"  It  is  the  most  miserable  and  lamentable  thing  that 
ever  took  place  in  this  world.  Look  at  my  sister  again  : 
what  a  delicate  old  maid  she  is !  used  to  move  and  be 
respected,  more  than  most  governesses  are,  in  the  highest 
society  in  the  land.  There'll  be  a  home  for  her  when  I 
die !  Think  of  her  living  in  the  house  with  any  of  the 
Hawkers ;  and  yet,  sir,  that  woman's  sense  of  duty  is  such 
that  she'd  die  sooner  than  leave  her  niece.  Sooner  be 
burnt  at  the  stake  than  go  one  inch  out  of  the  line  of  con- 
duct she  has  marked  out  for  herself." 

The  Vicar  judged  his  sister  most  rightly  :  we  shall  see 
that  hereafter. 

"  A  man  of  determination  and  strength  of  character 
could  have  prevented  it  at  the  beginning,  you  would  say. 
I  dare  say  he  might  have ;  but  I  am  not  a  man  of  deter- 
mination and  strength  of  character.  I  never  was,  and  I 
never  shall  be." 

"  Do  you  consider  it  in  the  light  of  a  settled  question, 
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The  Recollections  of 

then,"  said  the  Major,  "  that  your  daughter  should  marry 
young  Hawker  ?  " 

"  God  knows.  She  will  please  herself.  I  spoke  to  her 
at  first  about  encouraging  him,  and  she  began  by  laugh- 
ing at  me,  and  ended  by  making  a  scene  whenever  I  spoke 
against  him.  I  was  at  one  time  in  hopes  that  she  would 
have  taken  a  fancy  to  young  Stockbridge  ;  but  I  fear  I 
must  have  set  her  against  him  by  praising  him  too  much. 
It  wants  a  woman,  you  know,  to  manage  those  sort  of 
things." 

"  It  does,  indeed." 

"  You  see,  as  I  said  before,  I  have  no  actual  reason  to 
urge  against  Hawker,  and  he  will  be  very  rich.  I  shall 
raise  my  voice  against  her  living  in  the  house  with  that 
woman  Madge — in  fact,  I  won't  have  it ;  but  take  it  all  in 
all,  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  make  the  best  of  it." 

Major  Buckley  said  no  more,  and  soon  after  they  got 
home.  There  was  Mrs.  Buckley,  queenly  and  beautiful, 
waiting  for  her  husband  ;  and  there  was  Mary,  pretty,  and 
full  of  fun  ;  there  also  was  the  Doctor,  smoking  and  con- 
templating a  new  fern;  and  Miss  Thornton,  with  her 
gloved-hands  folded,  calculating  uneasily  what  amount  of 
detriment  Mary's  complexion  would  sustain  in  consequence 
of  walking  about  without  her  bonnet  in  an  April  sun. 

One  and  all  cried  out  to  know  what  sport ;  and  little 
Sam  tottered  forward  demanding  a  fish  for  himself,  which, 
having  got,  he  at  once  put  into  his  mouth  head  foremost. 
The  Doctor,  taking  off  his  spectacles,  examined  the  con- 
tents of  the  fish-basket,  and  then  demanded : 

"  Now,  my  good  friend,  why  do  you  give  yourself  the 
trouble  to  catch  trout  in  that  round-about  way,  requiring 
so  much  skill  and  patience  ?  In  Germany  we  catch  them 
with  a  net — a  far  superior  way,  I  assure  you.  Get  any 
one  of  the  idle  young  fellows  about  the  village  to  go  down 
to  the  stream  with  a  net,  and  they  will  get  more  trout  in  a 
day  than  you  would  in  a  week." 

"  What !  "  said  the  Major,  indignantly  ;  "  put  a  net  in 
64 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

my  rented  water  ?  —  If  I  caught  any  audacious  scoundrel 
carrying  a  net  within  half  a  mile  of  it,  I'd  break  his  neck. 
You  can't  appreciate  the  delights  of  fly-fishing,  Doctor — 
you  are  no  sportsman." 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  you  never  said  any- 
thing truer  than  that,  James  Buckley.  I  am  nothing  of 
the  sort.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  had  a  sort  of  brute 
instinct,  which  made  me  take  the  same  sort  of  pleasure  in 
killing  a  boar  that  a  cat  does  in  killing  a  mouse  ;  but  I 
have  outlived  such  barbarism." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  said  the  Vicar  ;  "  and  yet  he  gave  ten  shil- 
lings for  a  snipe.  And  he's  hand-and-glove  with  every 
poacher  in  the  parish." 

"  The  snipe  was  a  new  species,  sir,"  said  the  Doctor, 
indignantly ;  "  and  if  I  do  employ  the  hunters  to  collect 
for  me,  I  see  no  inconsistency  in  that.  But  I  consider 
this  fly-fishing  mania  just  of  a  piece  with  your  idiotic,  I 
repeat  it,  idiotic  institution  of  fox-hunting.  Why,  if  you 
laid  baits  poisoned  with  nux  vomica  about  the  haunts  of 
those  animals,  you  would  get  rid  of  them  in  two  years." 

The  Doctor  used  to  delight  in  aggravating  the  Major  by 
attacking  English  sports ;  but  he  had  a  great  admiration 
for  them  nevertheless. 

The  Major  got  out  his  wife's  pony  ;  and  setting  her  on 
it,  and  handing  up  the  son  and  heir,  departed  home  to 
dinner.  They  were  hardly  inside  the  gate  when  Mrs. 
Buckley  began  : 

"  My  dear  husband,  did  you  bring  him  to  speak  of  the 
subject  we  were  talking  about  ?  " 

"  He  went  into  it  himself,  wife,  tooth  and  nail." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well !  indeed,  my  dear  Agnes,  do  you  know  that, 
although  I  love  the  old  man  dearly,  I  must  say  I  think  he 
is  rather  weak." 

"  So  I  fear,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley ;  "  but  he  is  surely  not 
so  weak  as  to  allow  that  young  fellow  to  haunt  the  house, 
after  he  has  had  a  hint  that  he  is  making  love  to  Mary  ?  " 

65 


The  Recollections  of 

"  My  dear,  he  accepts  him  as  her  suitor.  He  says  he 
has  been  aware  of  it  for  some  time,  and  that  he  has  spoken 
to  Mary  about  it,  and  made  no  impression  ;  so  that  now 
he  considers  it  a  settled  thing." 

"  What  culpable  weakness !  So  Mary  encourages  him, 
then  ?  " 

"  She  adores  him,  and  won't  hear  a  word  against  him." 

"  Unfortunate  girl !  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  and  with  such 
a  noble  young  fellow  as  Stockbridge  ready  to  cut  off  his 
head  for  her  !  It  is  perfectly  inconceivable." 

"  Young  Hawker  is  very  handsome,  my  dear,  you  must 
remember." 

"  Is  he  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  7  call  him  one  of  the 
most  evil-looking  men  I  ever  saw." 

"  My  dear  Agnes,  I  think  if  you  were  to  speak  boldly  to 
her,  you  might  do  some  good.  You  might  begin  to  un- 
dermine this  unlucky  infatuation  of  hers ;  and  I  am  sure, 
if  her  eyes  were  once  opened,  that  the  more  she  saw  him, 
the  less  she  would  like  him." 

"  I  think,  James,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  that  it  becomes 
the  duty  of  us,  who  have  been  so  happy  in  our  marriage, 
to  prevent  our  good  old  Vicar's  last  days  from  being  ren- 
dered miserable  by  such  a  mesalliance  as  this.  I  am  very 
fond  of  Mary ;  but  the  old  Vicar,  my  dear,  has  taken  the 
place  of  your  father  to  me." 

"  He  is  like  a  second  father  to  me  too,"  said  the  Major ; 
"  but  he  wants  a  good  many  qualities  that  my  own  father 
had.  He  hasn't  his  energy  or  determination.  Why,  if 
my  father  had  been  in  his  place,  and  such  an  ill-looking 
young  dog  as  that  came  hanging  about  the  premises,  my 
father  would  have  laid  his  stick  about  his  back.  And  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  if  somebody  would  do  it  now." 

Such  was  Major  Buckley's  opinion. 


66 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Chapter  VIII 
The  Vicar  hears  something  to  his  Advantage 

"  MY  dear,"  said  old  Miss  Thornton,  that  evening,  "  I 
have  consulted  Mrs.  Buckley  on  the  sleeves,  and  she  is  of 
opinion  that  they  should  be  pointed." 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Mary,  "  that  she  thought  much 
about  the  matter  ?  " 

"  She  promised  to  give  the  matter  her  earnest  attention," 
said  Miss  Thornton ;  "  so  I  suppose  she  did.  Mrs.  Buckley 
would  never  speak  at  random,  if  she  once  promised  to  give 
her  real  opinion." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  she  would,  Auntie,  but  she  is  not 
very  particular  in  her  own  dress." 

"  She  always  looks  like  a  thorough  lady,  my  dear  :  Mrs. 
Buckley  is  a  woman  whom  I  could  set  before  you  as  a 
model  for  imitation  far  sooner  than  myself." 

"  She  is  a  duck,  at  all  events,"  said  Mary ;  "  and  her 
husband  is  a  darling." 

Miss  Thornton  was  too  much  shocked  to  say  anything. 
To  hear  a  young  lady  speak  of  a  handsome  military  man 
as  a  "  darling,"  went  quite  beyond  her  experience.  She 
was  considering  how  much  bread  and  water  and  back- 
board she  would  have  felt  it  her  duty  to  give  Lady  Kate, 
or  Lady  Fanny,  in  old  times,  for  such  an  expression,  when 
the  Vicar,  who  had  been  dosing,  woke  up  and  said  :  — 

"  Bless  us,  what  a  night !  The  equinoctial  gales  come 
back  again.  This  rain  will  make  up  for  the  dry  March 
with  a  vengeance ;  I  am  glad  I  am  safely  housed  before  a 
good  fire." 

Unlucky  words !  he  drew  nearer  to  the  fire,  and  began 
rubbing  his  knees ;  he  had  given  them  about  three  rubs, 
when  the  door  opens  and  the  maid's  voice  was  heard 
ominous  of  evil. 

"  Thomas  Jewel  is  worse,  sir,  and  if  you  please  his  mis- 
67 


The  Recollections  of 

sis  don't  expect  he'll  last  the  night;  and  could  you  just 
step  up  ?  " 

"  Just  stepping  up,"  was  a  pretty  little  euphemism  for 
walking  three  long  miles  dead  in  the  teeth  of  a  gale  of 
wind,  with  a  fierce  rushing  tropical  rain.  One  of  the  nu- 
merous tenders  of  the  ship  Jewel  (74),  had  just  arrived 
before  the  wind  under  bare  poles,  an  attempt  to  set  a  rag 
of  umbrella  having  ended  in  its  being  blown  out  of  the 
bolt-ropes,  and  the  aforesaid  tender  Jewel  was  now  in  the 
vicarage  harbour  of  refuge,  reflecting  what  an  awful  job 
it  would  have  in  beating  back  against  the  monsoon. 

"  Who  has  come  with  this  message  ?  "  said  the  Vicar, 
entering  the  kitchen  followed  by  Miss  Thornton  and 
Mary. 

"  Me,  sir,"  says  a  voice  from  the  doorway. 

"  Oh,  come  in,  will  you,"  said  the  Vicar ;  "  it's  a  terrible 
night,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Oh  Loord  !  "  said  the  voice  in  reply — intending  that 
ejaculation  for  a  very  strong  affirmative.  And  advancing 
towards  the  light,  displayed  a  figure  in  a  long  brown  great- 
coat, reaching  to  the  ankles,  and  topped  by  some  sort  of 
head-dress,  resembling  very  closely  a  small  black  carpet- 
bag, tied  on  with  a  red  cotton  handkerchief.  This  was 
all  that  was  visible,  and  the  good  Vicar  stood  doubting 
whether  it  was  male  or  female,  till  catching  sight  of  an 
immense  pair  of  hob-nail  boots  peeping  from  the  lower 
extremity  of  the  coat,  he  made  up  his  mind  at  once,  and 
began  : — 

"  My  good  boy — " 

There  was  a  cackling  laugh  from  under  the  carpet-bag, 
and  a  harsh  grating  voice  replied  . 

"  I  be  a  gurl." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  then  what  do  you  dress 
yourself  in  that  style  for  ? — So  old  Jewel  is  worse." 

"  Us  don't  think  a'll  live  the  night." 

"  Is  the  doctor  with  him  ?  "  said  the  Vicar. 

"  The  'Talian's  with  un." 

68 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

By  which  he  understood  her  to  mean  Dr.  Mulhaus,  all 
foreigners  being  considered  to  be  Italians  in  Drumston. 
An  idea  they  got,  I  take  it,  from  the  wandering  organ 
men  being  of  that  nation. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  I  will  start  at  once,  and  come. 
It's  a  terrible  night." 

The  owner  of  the  great-coat  assented  with  a  fiendish 
cackle,  and  departed.  The  Vicar,  having  been  well 
wrapped  up  by  his  sister  and  daughter,  departed  also, 
with  a  last  injunction  from  Miss  Thornton  to  take  care  of 
himself. 

Easier  said  than  done,  such  a  night  as  this.  A  regular 
south-westerly  gale,  accompanied  by  a  stinging,  cutting 
rain,  which  made  it  almost  impossible  to  look  to  wind- 
ward. Earth  and  sky  seemed  mixed  together,  and  each 
twig  and  bough  sent  a  separate  plaint  upon  the  gale,  in- 
dignant at  seeing  their  fresh-acquired  honours  torn  from 
them  and  scattered  before  the  blast. 

The  Vicar  put  his  head  down  and  sturdily  walked 
against  it.  It  was  well  for  him  that  he  knew  every  inch 
of  the  road,  for  his  knowledge  was  needed  now.  There 
was  no  turn  in  the  road  after  he  had  passed  the  church, 
but  it  took  straight  away  over  the  high  ground  up  to 
Hawker's  farm  on  the  woodlands. 

Old  Jewel,  whom  he  was  going  to  see,  had  been  a  hind 
of  Hawker's  for  many  years ;  but  about  a  twelvemonth 
before  the  present  time  he  had  left  his  service,  partly  on 
account  of  increasing  infirmity  and  partly  in  conse- 
quence of  a  violent  quarrel  with  Madge.  He  was  a  man 
of  indifferent  character.  He  had  been  married  once 
in  his  life,  but  his  wife  only  lived  a  year,  and  left  him 
with  one  son,  who  had  likewise  married  and  given  to  the 
world  seven  as  barbarous,  neglected,  young  savages  as 
any  in  the  parish.  The  old  man,  who  was  now  lying  on 
his  deathbed,  had  been  a  sort  of  confidential  man  to  old 
Hawker,  retained  in  that  capacity  on  account,  the  old  man 
said  once  in  his  drink,  of  not  having  any  wife  to  worm 
69 


The  Recollections  of 

family  affairs  out  of  him.  So  it  was  generally  believed  by 
the  village  folks,  that  old  Jewel  was  in  possession  of  some 
fearful  secrets  (such  as  a  murder  or  two,  for  instance,  or  a 
brace  of  forgeries),  and  that  the  Hawkers  daren't  turn 
him  out  of  the  cottage  where  he  lived  for  their  lives. 

Perhaps  some  of  these  idle  rumours  may  have  floated 
through  the  Vicar's  brain  as  he  fought  forwards  against 
the  storm  ;  but  if  any  did,  they  were  soon  dismissed 
again,  and  the  good  man's  thoughts  carried  into  a  fresh 
channel.  And  he  was  thinking  what  a  fearful  night  this 
would  be  at  sea,  and  how  any  ship  could  live  against  such 
a  storm,  when  he  came  to  a  white  gate,  which  led  into  the 
deep  wood  surrounding  Hawker's  house,  and  in  a  recess 
of  which  lived  old  Jewel  and  his  family. 

Now  began  the  most  difficult  part  of  his  journey.  The 
broader  road  that  led  from  the  gate  up  to  the  Hawkers' 
house  was  plainly  perceptible,  but  the  little  path  which 
turned  up  to  the  cottage  was  not  so  easily  found,  and 
when  found,  not  easily  kept  on  such  a  black  wild  night  as 
this.  But,  at  length,  having  hit  it,  he  began  to  follow  it 
with  some  difficulty,  and  soon  beginning  to  descend  rapid- 
ly, he  caught  sight  of  a  light,  and,  at  the  same  moment, 
heard  the  rushing  of  water. 

"  Oh,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  the  water  is  come  down,  and 
I  shall  have  a  nice  job  to  get  across  it.  Any  people  but 
the  Jewels  would  have  made  some  sort  of  a  bridge  by 
now ;  but  they  have  been  content  with  a  fallen  tree  ever 
since  the  old  bridge  was  carried  away." 

He  scrambled  down  the  steep  hill  side  with  great  diffi- 
culty, and  not  without  one  or  two  nasty  slips,  which,  to  a 
man  of  his  age,  was  no  trifle,  but  at  length  stood  trem- 
bling with  exertion  before  a  flooded  brook,  across  which 
lay  a  fallen  tree,  dimly  seen  in  the  dark  against  the  gleam 
of  the  rushing  water. 

"  I  must  stand  and  steady  my  nerves  a  bit  after  that 
tumble,"  he  said,  "  before  I  venture  over  there.  That's  the 
'  Brig  of  Dread '  with  a  vengeance.  However,  I  never 
70 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

came  to  harm  yet  when  I  was  after  duty,  so  I'll  chance 
it." 

The  cottage  stood  just  across  the  brook,  and  he  halloed 
aloud  for  some  one  to  come.  After  a  short  time  the  door 
opened,  and  a  man  appeared  with  a  lantern. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  "  demanded  Dr.  Mulhaus'  well-known 
voice.  "  Is  it  you,  Vicar  ?  " 

"  Aye,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  it's  me  at  present ;  but  it 
won't  be  me  long  if  I  slip  coming  over  that  log.  Here 
goes,"  he  said,  as  he  steadied  himself  and  crossed  rapidly, 
while  the  Doctor  held  the  light.  "  Ah,"  he  added,  when 
he  was  safe  across,  "  I  knew  I  should  get  over  all  right." 

"  You  did  not  seem  very  certain  about  it  just  now,"  said 
the  Doctor.  "  However,  I  am  sincerely  glad  you  are  come. 
I  knew  no  weather  would  stop  you." 

"  Thank  you,  old  friend,"  said  the  Vicar  ;  "  and  how  is 
the  patient  ?  " 

"  Going  fast.  More  in  your  line  than  mine.  The  man 
believes  himself  bewitched." 

"  Not  uncommon,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  in  these  parts  ; 
they  are  always  bothering  me  with  some  of  that  sort  of 
nonsense." 

They  went  in.  Only  an  ordinary  scene  of  poverty,  dirt, 
and  vice,  such  as  exists  to  some  extent,  in  every  parish,  in 
every  country  on  the  globe.  Nothing  more  than  that,  and 
yet  a  sickening  sight  enough. 

A  squalid,  damp,  close  room,  with  the  earthen  floor 
sunk  in  many  places  and  holding  pools  of  water.  The 
mother  smoking  in  the  chimney  corner,  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter nursing  an  illegitimate  child,  and  quarrelling  with  her 
mother  in  a  coarse,  angry  tone.  The  children,  ragged 
and  hungry,  fighting  for  the  fireside.  The  father  away,  at 
some  unlawful  occupation  probably,  or  sitting  drinking 
his  wages  in  an  alehouse.  That  was  what  they  saw,  and 
what  any  man  may  see  to-day  for  himself  in  his  own  vil- 
lage, whether  in  England  or  Australia,  that  working  man's 
paradise.  Drink,  dirt,  and  sloth,  my  friends  of  the  work- 


The  Recollections  of 

ing  orders,  will  produce  the  same  effects  all  over  the 
world. 

As  they  came  in  the  woman  of  the  house  rose  and 
curtseyed  to  the  Vicar,  but  the  eldest  girl  sat  still  and 
turned  away  her  head.  The  Vicar,  after  saluting  her 
mother,  went  gently  up  to  her,  and  patting  the  baby's 
cheek,  asked  her  kindly  how  she  did.  The  girl  tried  to 
answer  him,  but  could  only  sob.  She  bent  down  her  head 
again  over  the  child,  and  began  rocking  it  to  and  fro. 

"  You  must  bring  it  to  be  christened,"  said  the  Vicar 
kindly.  "  Can  you  come  on  Wednesday  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  come,"  she  said  with  a  sort  of  choke.  And 
now  the  woman  having  lit  a  fresh  candle,  ushered  them 
into  the  sick  man's  room. 

"  Typhus  and  scarlatina  !  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  How 
this  place  smells  after  being  in  the  air.  He  is  sensible 
again,  I  think." 

"  Quite  sensible,"  the  sick  man  answered  aloud.  "  So 
you've  come,  Mr.  Thornton  ;  I'm  glad  of  it ;  I've  got  a  sad 
story  to  tell  you ;  but  I'll  have  vengeance  if  you  do  your 
duty.  You  see  the  state  I  am  in  !  " 

"  Ague  !  "  said  the  Vicar. 

"  And  who  gave  it  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  God  sent  it  to  you,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  All 
people  living  in  a  narrow  wet  valley  among  woodlands 
like  this,  must  expect  ague." 

"  I  tell  you  she  gave  it  to  me.  I  tell  you  she  has  over- 
looked me  ;  and  all  this  doctor's  stuff  is  no  use,  unless  you 
can  say  a  charm  as  will  undo  her  devil's  work." 

"  My  good  friend,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  you  should  banish 
such  fancies  from  your  mind,  for  you  are  in  a  serious 
position,  and  ought  not  to  die  in  enmity  with  any  one." 

"  Not  die  in  enmity  with  her?  I'd  never  forgive  her  till 
she  took  off  the  spell." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  Vicar. 

"  Why,  that  infernal  witch,  Madge,  that  lives  with  old 
Hawker,"  said  the  man  excitedly.  "  That's  who  I  mean  !  " 
72 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  Why,  what  injury  has  she  done  you  ?  " 

"  Bewitched  me,  I  tell  you !  Given  me  these  shaking 
fits.  She  told  me  she  would,  when  I  left ;  and  so  she  has, 
to  prevent  my  speaking.  I  might  'a  spoke  out  anytime 
this  year,  only  the  old  man  kept  me  quiet  with  money ; 
but  now  it's  nigh  too  late  !  " 

"  What  might  you  have  spoken  about  ? "  asked  the 
Vicar. 

"  Well,  I'll  just  relate  the  matter  to  you,"  said  the  man, 
speaking  fast  and  thick,  "  and  I'll  speak  the  truth.  A 
twelvemonth  agone,  this  Madge  and  me  had  a  fierce  quar- 
rel, and  I  miscalled  her  awful,  and  told  her  of  some  things 
she  wasn't  aware  I  knew  of ;  and  then  she  said,  '  If  ever  a 
word  of  that  escapes  your  lips,  I'll  put  such  a  spell  on  ye 
that  your  bones  shall  shake  apart.'  Then  I  says,  '  If  you 
do,  your  bastard  son  shall  swing.'  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  her  bastard  son  ?  " 

"  Young  George  Hawker.  He  is  not  the  son  of  old 
Mrs.  Hawker !  Madge  was  brought  to  bed  of  him  a  fort- 
night before  her  mistress  ;  and  when  she  bore  a  still-born 
child,  old  Hawker  and  I  buried  it  in  the  wood,  and  we 
gave  Madge's  child  to  Mrs.  Hawker,  who  never  knew  the 
difference  before  she  died." 

"  On  the  word  of  a  dying  man,  is  that  true  ?  "  demanded 
the  Vicar. 

"  On  the  word  of  a  dying  man  that's  true,  and  this  also. 
I  says  to  Madge,  '  Your  boy  shall  swing,  for  I  know 
enough  to  hang  him.'  And  she  said,  '  Where  are  your 
proofs  ?  '  and  I — O  Lord  !  O  Lord  !  she's  at  me  again." 

He  sank  down  again  in  a  paroxysm  of  shivering,  and 
they  got  no  more  from  him.  Enough  there  was,  however, 
to  make  the  Vicar  a  very  silent  and  thoughtful  man,  as  he 
sat  watching  the  sick  man  in  the  close  stifling  room. 

"  You  had  better  go  home,  Vicar,"  said  the  Doctor ; 
"  you  will  make  yourself  ill  staying  here.  I  do  not  expect 
another  lucid  interval." 

"  No,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  stay  longer. 

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The  Recollections  of 

For  my  own  sake  too.     What  he  has  let  out  bears  fearfully 
on  my  happiness,  Doctor." 

"  Yes,  I  can  understand  that,  my  friend,  from  what  I 
have  heard  of  the  relations  that  exist  between  your  daugh- 
ter and  that  young  man.  You  have  be-en  saved  from  a 
terrible  misfortune,  though  at  the  cost,  perhaps,  of  a  few 
tears,  and  a  little  temporary  uneasiness." 

"  I  hope  it  may  be  as  you  say,"  said  the  Vicar. 
"  Strange,  only  to-day  Major  Buckley  was  urging  me  to 
stop  that  acquaintance." 

"  I  should  have  ventured  to  do  so  too,  Vicar,  had  I  been 
as  old  a  friend  of  yours  as  Major  Buckley." 

"  He  is  not  such  a  very  old  friend,"  said  the  Vicar ;  "  only 
of  two  years'  standing,  yet  I  seem  to  have  known  him  ten." 

At  daybreak  the  man  died,  and  made  no  sign.  So  as 
soon  as  they  had  satisfied  themselves  of  the  fact,  they  de- 
parted, and  came  out  together  into  the  clear  morning  air. 
The  rain-clouds  had  broken,  though  when  they  had 
scrambled  up  out  of  the  narrow  little  valley  where  the  cot- 
tage stood,  they  found  that  the  wind  was  still  high  and 
fierce,  and  that  the  sun  was  rising  dimly  through  a  yellow 
haze  of  driving  scud. 

They  stepped  out  briskly,  revived  by  the  freshness  of 
all  around,  and  had  made  about  half  the  distance  home, 
when  they  descried  a  horseman  coming  slowly  towards 
them.  It  seemed  an  early  time  for  any  one  to  be  abroad, 
and  their  surprise  was  increased  at  seeing  that  it  was 
George  Hawker  returning  home. 

"  Where  can  he  have  been  so  early  ?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  So  late,  you  mean,"  said  the  Vicar ;  "  he  has  not  been 
home  all  night.  Now  I  shall  brace  up  my  nerves  and 
speak  to  him." 

"  My  good  wishes  go  with  you,  Vicar,"  said  the  Doctor, 
and  walked  on,  while  the  other  stopped  to  speak  with 
George  Hawker. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Thornton.  You  are  early  a-foot, 
sir." 

74 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  sitting  up  all  night  with  old  Jewel. 
He  is  dead." 

"  Is  he  indeed,  sir  ?  "  said  Hawker.  "  He  won't  be  much 
loss,  sir,  to  the  parish.  A  sort  of  happy  release,  one  may 
say,  for  every  one  but  himself." 

"  Can  I  have  the  pleasure  of  a  few  words  with  you,  Mr. 
Hawker  ?  " 

"  Surely,  sir,"  said  he,  dismounting.  "  Allow  me  to  walk 
a  little  on  the  way  back  with  you  ?  " 

"  What  I  have  to  say,  Mr.  Hawker,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  is 
very  short,  and,  I  fear,  also  very  disagreeable  to  all  parties. 
I  am  going  to  request  you  to  discontinue  your  visits  to  my 
house  altogether,  and,  in  fact,  drop  our  acquaintance." 

"  This  is  very  sudden,  sir,"  said  Hawker.  "  Am  I  to  un- 
derstand, sir,  that  you  cannot  be  induced  by  any  conduct 
of  mine  to  reconsider  this  decision  ?  " 

"  "You  are  to  understand  that  such  is  the  case,  sir." 

"  And  this  is  final,  Mr.  Thornton  ?  " 

"  Quite  final,  I  assure  you,"  said  the  Vicar ;  "  nothing 
on  earth  should  make  me  flinch  from  my  decision." 

"  This  is  very  unfortunate,  sir,"  said  George.  "  For  I 
had  reason  to  believe  that  you  rather  encouraged  my  visits 
than  otherwise." 

"  I  never  encouraged  them.  It  is  true  I  permitted  them. 
But  since  then  circumstances  have  come  to  my  ears  which 
render  it  imperative  that  you  should  drop  all  communica- 
tion with  the  members  of  my  family,  more  especially,  to 
speak  plainly,  with  my  daughter." 

"  At  least,  sir,"  said  George,  "  let  me  know  what  charge 
you  bring  against  me." 

"  I  make  no  charges  of  any  sort,"  replied  the  Vicar. 
"  All  I  say  is,  that  I  wish  the  intercourse  between  you  and 
my  daughter  to  cease  ;  and  I  consider,  sir,  that  when  I  say 
that,  it  ought  to  be  sufficient.  I  conceive  that  I  have  the 
right  to  say  so  much  without  question." 

"  I  think  you  are  unjust,  sir ;  I  do,  indeed,"  said  George. 

"  I  may  have  been  unjust,  and  I  may  have  been  weak, 
75 


The  Recollections  of 

in  allowing  an  intimacy  (which  I  do  not  deny,  mind  you) 
to  spring  up  between  my  daughter  and  yourself.  But  I 
am  not  unjust  now,  when  I  require  that  it  should  cease. 
I  begin  to  be  just." 

"  Do  you  forbid  me  your  house,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  forbid  you  my  house,  sir.  Most  distinctly.  And  I 
wish  you  good-day." 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said  on  either  side.  George 
stood  beside  his  horse,  after  the  Vicar  had  left  him,  till  he 
was  fairly  out  of  earshot.  And  then,  with  a  fierce  oath, 
he  said, — 

"  You  puritanical  old  humbug,  I'll  do  you  yet.  You've 
heard  about  Nell  and  her  cursed  brat.  But  the  daughter 
ain't  always  the  same  way  of  thinking  with  the  father,  old 
man." 

The  Vicar  walked  on,  glad  enough  to  have  got  the  inter- 
view over,  till  he  overtook  the  Doctor,  who  was  walking 
slowly  till  he  came  up.  He  felt  as  though  the  battle  was 
gained  already,  though  he  still  rather  dreaded  a  scene  with 
Mary. 

"  How  have  you  sped,  friend  ?  "  asked  the  Doctor. 
"  Have  you  given  the  young  gentleman  his  congt  f  " 

"  I  have,"  he  replied.  "  Doctor,  now  half  the  work  is 
done,  I  feel  what  a  culpable  coward  I  have  been  not  to  do 
it  before.  I  have  been  deeply  to  blame.  I  never  should 
have  allowed  him  to  come  near  us.  Surely,  the  girl  will 
not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  regret  the  loss  of  such  a  man.  I 
shall  tell  her  all  I  know  about  him,  and  after  that  I  can 
do  no  more.  No  more  ?  I  never  had  her  confidence. 
She  has  always  had  a  life  apart  from  mine.  The  people 
in  the  village,  all  so  far  below  us  in  every  way,  have  been 
to  me  acquaintances,  and  only  that ;  but  they  have  been 
her  world,  and  she  has  seen  no  other.  She  is  a  kind,  affec- 
tionate daughter,  but  she  would  be  as  good  a  daughter  to 
any  of  the  farmers  round  as  she  is  to  me.  She  is  not  a 
lady.  That  is  the  truth.  God  help  the  man  who  brings 
up  a  daughter  without  a  wife." 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  You  do  her  injustice,  my  friend,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I 
understand  what  you  mean,  but  you  do  her  injustice.  All 
the  female  society  she  has  ever  seen,  before  Mrs.  Buckley 
and  your  sister  came  here,  was  of  a  rank  inferior  to  her- 
self, and  she  has  taken  her  impressions  from  that  society 
to  a  great  extent.  But  still  she  is  a  lady  ;  compare  her  to 
any  of  the  other  girls  in  the  parish,  and  you  will  see  the 
difference." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  true,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  You  must 
think  me  a  strange  man  to  speak  so  plainly  about  my  own 
daughter,  Doctor,  and  to  you,  too,  whom  I  have  known  so 
short  a  time.  But  one  must  confide  in  somebody,  and  I 
have  seen  your  discretion  manifested  so  often  that  I  trust 
you." 

They  had  arrived  opposite  the  Vicar's  gate,  but  the 
Doctor,  resisting  all  the  Vicar's  offers  of  breakfast,  de- 
clined to  go  in.  He  walked  homeward  toward  his  jcottage- 
lodgings,  and  as  he  went  he  mused  to  himself  somewhat 
in  this  style, — 

"  What  a  good  old  man  that  is.  And  yet  how  weak.  I 
used  to  say  to  myself  when  I  first  knew  him,  what  a  pity 
that  a  man  with  such  a  noble  intellect  should  be  buried  in 
a  country  village,  a  pastor  to  a  lot  of  ignorant  hinds.  And 
yet  he  is  fit  for  nothing  else,  with  all  his  intelligence,  and 
all  his  learning.  He  has  no  go  in  him, — no  back  to  his 
head.  Contrast  him  with  Buckley,  and  see  the  difference. 
Now  Buckley,  without  being  a  particularly  clever  man, 
sees  the  right  thing,  and  goes  at  it  through  fire  and  water. 
But  our  old  Vicar  sees  the  right,  and  leaves  it  to  take  care 
of  itself.  He  can't  manage  his  own  family  even.  That 
girl  is  a  fine  girl,  a  very  fine  girl.  A  good  deal  of  charac- 
ter about  her.  But  her  animal  passions  are  so  strong  that 
she  would  be  a  Tartar  for  any  one  to  manage.  She  will 
be  too  much  for  the  Vicar.  She  will  marry  that  man  in 
the  end.  And  if  he  don't  use  her  properly,  she'll  hate  him 
as  much  as  she  loves  him  now.  She  is  more  like  an  Ital- 
ian than  an  English  girl.  Hi !  there's  a  noble  Rhamnea  !  " 

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The  Recollections  of 

The  Vicar  went  into  his  house,  and  found  no  one  up 
but  the  maids,  who  were  keeping  that  saturnalia  among  the 
household  gods,  which,  I  am  given  to  understand,  goes  on 
in  every  well-regulated  household  before  the  lords  of  the 
creation  rise  from  their  downy  beds.  I  have  never  seen 
this  process  myself,  but  I  am  informed,  by  the  friend  of 
my  heart,  who  looked  on  it  once  for  five  minutes,  and  then 
fled,  horror  struck,  that  the  first  act  consists  in  turning  all 
the  furniture  upside  down,  and  beating  it  with  brooms. 
Further  than  this  I  have  no  information.  If  any  male  eye 
has  penetrated  these  awful  secrets  beyond  that,  let  the 
owner  of  that  eye  preserve  a  decent  silence.  There  are 
some  things  that  it  is  better  not  to  know.  Only  let  us 
hope,  brother,  that  you  and  I  may  always  find  ourselves  in 
a  position  to  lie  in  bed  till  it  is  all  over.  In  Australia, 
it  may  be  worth  while  to  remark,  this  custom,  with  many 
other  religious  observances,  has  fallen  into  entire  desue- 
tude. 

The  Vicar  was  very  cross  this  morning.  He  had  been 
sitting  up  all  night,  which  was  bad,  and  he  had  been  think- 
ing these  last  few  minutes  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  him- 
self, by  talking  so  freely  to  the  Doctor  about  his  private 
affairs,  which  was  worse.  Nothing  irritated  the  Vicar's 
temper  more  than  the  feeling  of  having  been  too  free  and 
communicative  with  people  who  did  not  care  about  him, 
a  thing  he  was  very  apt  to  do.  And,  on  this  occasion,  he 
could  not  disguise  from  himself  that  he  had  been  led  into 
talking  about  his  daughter  to  the  Doctor,  in  a  way  which 
he  characterised  in  his  own  mind  as  being  "  indecent." 

As  I  said,  he  was  cross.  And  anything  in  the  way  of 
clearing  up  or  disturbance  always  irritated  him,  though  he 
generally  concealed  it.  But  there  was  a  point  at  which 
his  vexation  always  took  the  form  of  a  protest,  more  or 
less  violent.  And  that  point  was  determined  by  any  one 
meddling  with  his  manuscript  sermons. 

So,  on  this  unlucky  morning,  in  spite  of  fresh-lit  fires 
smoking  in  his  face,  and  fenders  in  dark  passages  throw- 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

ing  him  headlong  into  lurking  coalscuttles,  he  kept  his 
temper  like  a  man,  until  coming  into  his  study,  he  found 
his  favourite  discourse  on  the  sixth  seal  lying  on  the  floor 
by  the  window,  his  lectures  on  the  ugth  Psalm  on  the 
hearthrug,  and  the  maid  fanning  the  fire  with  his  chef- 
d'oeuvre,  the  Waterloo  thanksgiving. 

Then,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he  lost  his  temper.  Instead 
of  calling  the  girl  by  her  proper  name,  he  addressed  her 
as  a  distinguished  Jewish  lady,  a  near  relation  of  King 
Ahab,  and,  snatching  the  sermon  from  her  hand,  told  her 
to  go  and  call  Miss  Mary,  or  he'd  lay  his  stick  about  her 
back. 

The  girl  was  frightened — she  had  never  seen  her  master 
in  this  state  of  mind  before.  So  she  ran  out  of  the  room, 
and,  having  fetched  Mary,  ensconced  herself  outside  the 
door  to  hear  what  was  the  matter. 

Mary  tripped  into  the  room  looking  pretty  and  fresh. 
"  Why,  father,"  she  said,  "  you  have  been  up  all  night.  I 
have  ordered  you  a  cup  of  coffee.  How  is  old  Jewel  ?  " 

"Dead,"  said  the  Vicar.  "Never  mind  him.  Mary, 
I  want  to  speak  to  you,  seriously,  about  something  that 
concerns  the  happiness  of  your  whole  life." 

"  Father,"  she  said,  "  you  frighten  me.  Let  me  get  you 
your  coffee  before  you  begin,  at  all  events." 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  I  order  you,"  said  the  father.  "  I 
will  have  no  temporizing  until  the  matter  grows  cold.  I 
will  speak  now  ;  do  you  hear.  Now,  listen." 

She  was  subdued,  and  knew  what  was  coming.  She 
sat  down,  and  waited.  Had  he  looked  in  her  face,  instead 
of  in  the  fire,  he  would  have  seen  an  expression  there 
which  he  would  little  have  liked — a  smile  of  obstinacy  and 
self-will. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  mince  matters,  and  beat  about  the 
bush,  Mary,"  he  began.  "  What  I  say  I  mean,  and  will 
have  it  attended  to.  You  are  very  intimate  with  young 
Hawker,  and  that  intimacy  is  very  displeasing  to  me." 

"  Well  ?  "  she  said. 

79 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Well,"  he  answered.  "  I  say  it  is  not  well.  I  will  not 
have  him  here." 

"  You-  are  rather  late,  father,"  she  said.  "  He  has  had 
the  run  of  this  house  these  six  months.  You  should  have 
spoken  before." 

"  I  speak  now,  miss,"  said  the  Vicar,  succeeding  in  work- 
ing himself  into  a  passion,  "  and  that  is  enough.  I  forbid 
him  the  house,  now  !  " 

"  You  had  better  tell  him  so,  father.     I  won't." 

"  I  daresay  you  won't,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  But  I  have 
told  him  so  already  this  morning." 

"  You  have  !  "  she  cried.  "  Father,  you  had  no  right  to 
do  that.  You  encouraged  him  here.  And  now  my  love 
is  given,  you  turn  round  and  try  to  break  my  heart." 

"  I  never  encouraged  him.  You  all  throw  that  in  my 
face.  You  have  no  natural  affection,  girl.  I  always  hated 
the  man.  And  now  I  have  heard  things  about  him  suffi- 
cient to  bar  him  from  any  honest  man's  house." 

"  Unjust !  "  she  said.     "  I  will  never  believe  it." 

"  I  daresay  you  won't,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  Because  you 
don't  want  to.  You  are  determined  to  make  my  life  mis- 
erable. There  was  Jim  Stockbridge.  Such  a  noble,  hand- 
some, gentlemanly  young  fellow,  and  nothing  would  please 
you  but  to  drive  him  wild,  till  he  left  the  country.  Now, 
go  away,  and  mind  what  I  have  said.  You  mean  to  break 
my  heart,  I  see." 

She  turned  as  she  was  going  out.  "  Father,"  she  said, 
"  is  James  Stockbridge  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  gone.  Sailed  a  fortnight  ago.  And  all  your 
doing.  Poor  boy,  I  wonder  where  he  is  now." 

Where  is  he  now  ?  Under  the  cliffs  of  Madeira.  Stand- 
ing on  the  deck  of  a  brave  ship,  beneath  a  rustling  cloud 
of  canvas,  watching  awe-struck  that  noble  island,  like  an 
aerial  temple,  brown  in  the  lights,  blue  in  the  shadows, 
floating  between  a  sapphire  sea  and  an  azure  sky.  Far 
aloft  in  the  air  is  Ruivo,  five  thousand  feet  overhead, 
father  of  the  great  ridges  and  sierras  that  run  down  jagged 
80 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

and  abrupt,  till  they  end  in  wild  surf-washed  promontories. 
He  is  watching  a  mighty  glen  that  pierces  the  mountain, 
dark  with  misty  shadows.  He  is  watching  the  waterfalls 
that  stream  from  among  the  vineyards  into  the  sea  below, 
and  one  long  white  monastery,  perched  up  among  the 
crags  above  the  highway  of  the  world. 

Borne  upon  the  full  north  wind,  the  manhood  and  intel- 
ligence of  Europe  goes  past,  day  by  day,  in  white  winged 
ships.  And  above  all,  unheeding,  century  after  century, 
the  old  monks  have  vegetated  there,  saying  their  masses, 
and  ringing  their  chapel  bells,  high  on  the  windy  cliff. 


Chapter  IX 
When  the  Kye  came  hame 

AND  when  Mary  had  left  the  room,  the  Vicar  sat  mus- 
ing before  the  fire  in  his  study.  "  Well,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "  she  took  it  quieter  than  I  thought  she  would. 
Now,  I  can't  blame  myself.  I  think  I  have  shown  her 
that  I  am  determined,  and  she  seems  inclined  to  be  duti- 
ful. Poor  dear  girl,  I  am  sorry  for  her.  There  is  no 
doubt  she  has  taken  a  fancy  to  this  handsome  young 
scamp.  But  she  must  get  over  it.  It  can't  be  so  very 
serious  as  yet.  At  all  events  I  have  done  my  duty,  though 
I  can't  help  saying  that  I  wish  I  had  spoken  before  things 
went  so  far." 

The  maid  looked  in  timidly,  and  told  him  that  break- 
fast was  ready.  He  went  into  the  front  parlour,  and 
there  he  found  his  sister  making  tea.  She  looked  rather 
disturbed,  and,  as  the  Vicar  kissed  her,  he  asked  her 
"  where  was  Mary  ?  " 

"  She  is  not  well,  brother,"  she  answered.  "  She  is  go- 
ing to  stay  up-stairs ;  I  fear  something  has  gone  wrong 
with  her." 

"  She  and  I  had  some  words  this  morning,"  answered 
81 


The  Recollections  of 

he,  "  and  that  happens  so  seldom,  that  she  is  a  little  up- 
set, that  is  all." 

"  I  hope  there  is  nothing  serious,  brother,"  said  Miss 
Thornton. 

"  No  ;  I  have  only  been  telling  her  that  she  must  give 
up  receiving  George  Hawker  here.  And  she  seems  to 
have  taken  a  sort  of  fancy  to  his  society,  which  might 
have  grown  to  something  more  serious.  So  I  am  glad  I 
spoke  in  time." 

"  My  dear  brother,  do  you  think  you  have  spoken  in 
time  ?  I  have  always  imagined  that  you  had  determined, 
for  some  reason  which  I  was  not  master  of,  that  she 
should  look  on  Mr.  Hawker  as  her  future  husband.  I  am 
afraid  you  will  have  trouble.  Mary  is  self-willed." 

Mary  was  very  self-willed.  She  refused  to  come  down- 
stairs all  day,  and,  when  he  was  sitting  down  to  dinner,  he 
sent  up  for  her.  She  sent  him  for  an  answer,  that  she  did 
not  want  any  dinner,  and  that  she  was  going  to  stay  where 
she  was. 

The  Vicar  ate  his  dinner  notwithstanding.  He  was 
vexed,  but,  on  the  whole,  felt  satisfied  with  himself.  This 
sort  of  thing,  he  said  to  himself,  was  to  be  expected.  She 
would  get  over  it  in  time.  He  hoped  that  the  poor  girl 
would  not  neglect  her  meals,  and  get  thin.  He  might 
have  made  himself  comfortable  if  he  had  seen  her  at  the 
cold  chicken  in  the  back  kitchen. 

She  could  not  quite  make  the  matter  out.  She  rather 
fancied  that  her  father  and  Hawker  had  had  some  quar- 
rel, the  effects  of  which  would  wear  off,  and  that  all  would 
come  back  to  its  old  course.  She  thought  it  strange  too 
that  her  father  should  be  so  different  from  his  usual  self, 
and  this  made  her  uneasy.  One  thing  she  was  determined 
on,  not  to  give  up  her  lover,  come  what  would.  So  far  in 
life  she  had  always  had  her  own  way,  and  she  would  have 
it  now.  All  things  considered,  she  thought  that  sulks 
would  be  her  game.  So  sulks  it  was.  To  be  carried  on 
until  the  Vicar  relented. 

82 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

She  sat  up  in  her  room  till  it  was  evening.  Twice 
during  the  day  her  aunt  had  come  up,  and  the  first  time 
she  had  got  rid  of  her  under  pretence  of  headache,  but 
the  second  time  she  was  forced  in  decency  to  admit  her, 
and  listen  entirely  unedified  to  a  long  discourse,  proving, 
beyond  power  of  contradiction,  that  it  was  the  duty  of 
every  young  Englishwoman  to  be  guided  entirely  by  her 
parents  in  the  choice  of  a  partner  for  life.  And  how  that 
Lady  Kate,  as  a  fearful  judgment  on  her  for  marrying  a 
captain  of  artillery  against  the  wishes  of  her  noble  rela- 
tives, was  now  expiating  her  crimes  on  4oo/.  a-year,  and 
when  she  might  have  married  a  duke. 

Lady  Kate  was  Miss  Thornton's  "  awful  example,"  her 
"  naughty  girl."  She  served  to  point  many  a  moral  of  the 
old  lady's.  But  Lady  Fanny,  her  sister,  was  always  rep- 
resented as  the  pattern  of  all  Christian  virtues — who  had 
crowned  the  hopes  of  her  family  and  well-wishers  by  mar- 
rying a  gouty  marquis  of  sixty-three,  with  fifty  thousand 
a-year.  On  this  occasion,  Mary  struck  the  old  lady  dumb 
— "  knocked  her  cold,"  our  American  cousins  would  say — 
by  announcing  that  she  considered  Lady  Fanny  to  be  a 
fool,  but  that  Lady  Kate  seemed  to  be  a  girl  of  some 
spirit.  So  Miss  Thornton  left  her  to  her  own  evil 
thoughts,  and,  as  evening  began  to  fall,  Mary  put  on  her 
bonnet,  and  went  out  for  a  walk. 

Out  by  the  back  door,  and  round  through  the  shrub- 
bery, so  that  she  gained  the  front  gate  unperceived  from 
the  windows ;  but  ere  she  reached  it  she  heard  the  latch 
go,  and  found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  man. 

He  was  an  immensely  tall  man,  six  foot  at  least.  His 
long  heavy  limbs  loosely  hung  together,  and  his  immense 
broad  shoulders  slightly  rounded.  In  features  he  was 
hardly  handsome,  but  a  kindly  pleasant  looking  face  made 
ample  atonement  for  want  of  beauty.  He  was  dressed  in 
knee  breeches,  and  a  great  blue  coat,  with  brass  buttons, 
too  large  even  for  him,  was  topped  by  a  broad-brimmed 
beaver  hat,  with  fur  on  it  half  an  inch  long.  In  age,  this 
83 


The  Recollections  of 

man  was  about  five-and-twenty,  and  well  known  he  was 
to  all  the  young  fellows  round  there  for  skill  in  all  sport- 
ing matters,  as  well  as  for  his  kind-heartedness  and  gener- 
osity. 

When  he  saw  Mary  pop  out  of  the  little  side  walk  right 
upon  him,  he  leaned  back  against  the  gate  and  burst  out 
laughing.  No,  hardly  "  burst  out."  His  laughter  seemed 
to  begin  internally  and  silently,  till,  after  one  or  two 
rounds,  it  shook  the  vast  fabric  of  his  chest  beyond  en- 
durance, and  broke  out  into  so  loud  and  joyous  a  peal 
that  the  blackbird  fled,  screeching  indignantly,  from  the 
ivy-tree  behind  him. 

"  What  !  Thomas  Troubridge,"  said  Mary.  "  My 
dear  cousin,  how  are  you  ?  Now,  don't  stand  laughing 
there  like  a  great  gaby,  but  come  and  shake  hands.  What 
on  earth  do  you  see  to  laugh  at  in  me  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  my  cousin  Poll,  nothing,"  he  replied.  "  You 
know  that  is  my  way  of  expressing  approval.  And  you 
look  so  pretty  standing  there  in  the  shade,  that  I  would 
break  any  man's  neck  who  didn't  applaud.  Shake  hands, 
says  you,  I'll  shake  hands  with  a  vengeance."  So  saying, 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  covered  her  with  kisses. 

"  You  audacious,"  she  exclaimed,  when  she  writhed 
herself  free.  "  I'll  never  come  within  arm's-length  of  you 
again.  How  dare  you  ?  " 

"  Only  cousinly  affection,  I  assure  you,  Poll.  Rather 
more  violent  than  usual  at  finding  myself  back  in  Drum- 
ston.  But  entirely  cousinly." 

"  Where  have  you  been,  then,  Tom  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Why,  to  London,  to  be  sure.     Give  us  ano " 

"  You  keep  off,  sir,  or  you'll  catch  it.  What  took  you 
there  ?  " 

"  Went  to  see  Stockbridge  and  Hamlyn  off." 

"  Then,  they  are  gone  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Gone,  sure  enough.  I  was  the  last  friend  they'll  see 
for  many  a  long  year." 

"  How  did  Stockbridge  look  ?  was  he  pretty  brave  ?  " 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

"  Pretty  well.  Braver  than  I  was.  Mary,  my  girl,  why 
didn't  ye  marry  him  ?  " 

"  What— you  are  at  me  with  the  rest,  are  you  ?  "  she 
answered.  "  Why,  because  he  was  a  gaby,  and  you're 
another ;  and  I  wouldn't  marry  either  of  you  to  save  your 
lives — now  then  !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  would  not  have  me,  if  I 
asked  you  ?  Pooh !  pooh  !  I  know  better  than  that,  you 
know."  And  again  the  shrubbery  rang  with  his  laughter. 

"  Now,  go  in,  Tom,  and  let  me  get  out,"  said  Mary. 
"  I  say  Tom,  dear,  don't  say  you  saw  me.  I  am  going 
out  for  a  turn,  and  I  don't  want  them  to  know  it." 

Tom  twisted  up  his  great  face  into  a  mixture  of  mystery, 
admiration,  wonder,  and  acquiescence,  and,  having  opened 
the  gate  for  her,  went  in. 

But  Mary  walked  quickly  down  a  deep  narrow  lane, 
overarched  with  oak,  and  melodious  with  the  full  rich 
notes  of  the  thrush,  till  she  saw  down  the  long  vista,  grow- 
ing now  momentarily  darker,  the  gleaming  of  a  ford  where 
the  road  crossed  a  brook. 

Not  the  brook  where  the  Vicar  and  the  Major  went 
fishing.  Quite  a  different  sort  of  stream,  although  they 
were  scarcely  half  a  mile  apart,  and  joined  just  below. 
Here  all  the  soil  was  yellow  clay,  and,  being  less  fertile, 
was  far  more  densely  wooded  than  any  of  the  red  country. 
The  hills  were  very  abrupt,  and  the  fields  but  sparely 
scattered  among  the  forest  land.  The  stream  itself,  where 
it  crossed  the  road,  flowed  murmuring  over  a  bed  of  loose 
blue  slate  pebbles,  but  both  above  and  below  this  place 
forced  its  way,  almost  invisible,  through  a  dense  oak 
wood,  deeply  tangled  with  undergrowth. 

A  stone  foot-bridge  spanned  the  stream,  and  having 
reached  this,  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  come  to  her  jour- 
ney's end.  For  leaning  on  the  rail  she  began  looking  into 
the  water  below,  though  starting  and  looking  round  at 
every  sound. 

She  was  waiting  for  some  one.    A  pleasant  place  this 

85 


The  Recollections  of 

to  wait  in.  So  dark,  so  hemmed  in  with  trees,  and  the 
road  so  little  used ;  spring  was  early  here,  and  the  boughs 
were  getting  quite  dense  already.  How  pleasant  to  see 
the  broad  red  moon  go  up  behind  the  feathery  branches, 
and  listen  to  the  evensong  of  the  thrush,  just  departing  to 
roost,  and  leaving  the  field  clear  for  the  woodlark  all  night. 
There  were  a  few  sounds  from  the  village,  a  lowing  of 
cows,  and  the  noise  of  the  boys  at  play  ;  but  they  were  so 
tempered  down  by  the  distance,  that  they  only  added  to 
the  evening  harmony. 

There  is  another  sound  now.  Horses'  feet  approaching 
rapidly  from  the  side  opposite  to  that  by  which  she  has 
come ;  and  soon  a  horseman  comes  in  sight,  coming 
quickly  down  the  hill.  When  he  sees  her  he  breaks  into 
a  gallop,  and  only  pulls  up  when  he  is  at  the  side  of  the 
brook  below  her. 

This  is  the  man  she  was  expecting — George  Hawker. 
Ah,  Vicar  !  how  useless  is  your .  authority  when  lovers 
have  such  intelligence  as  this.  It  were  better  they  should 
meet  in  your  parlour,  under  your  own  eye,  than  here,  in 
the  budding  spring-time,  in  this  quiet  spot  under  the  dark- 
ening oaks. 

Hawker  spoke  first.  "  I  guessed,"  he  said,  "  that  it 
was  just  possible  you  might  come  out  to-night.  Come 
down  off  the  bridge,  my  love,  and  let  us  talk  together 
while  I  hang  up  the  horse." 

So  as  he  tied  the  horse  to  a  gate,  she  came  down  off 
the  bridge.  He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 
"  Now,  my  Poll,"  said  he,  "  I  know  what  you  are  going  to 
begin  talking  about." 

"  I  daresay  you  do,  George,"  she  answered.  "  You  and 
my  father  have  quarrelled." 

"  The  quarrel  has  been  all  on  one  side,  my  love,"  he 
said ;  "  he  has  got  some  nonsense  into  his  head,  and  he 
told  me  when  I  met  him  this  morning,  that  he  would  never 
see  me  in  his  house  again." 

"  What  has  he  heard,  George  ?  it  must  be  something 
86 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

very  shocking  to  change  him  like  that.  Do  you  know 
what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  he  said  ;  "  but  he  has  no  right  to  visit 
my  father's  sins  on  me.  He  hates  me,  and  he  always  did ; 
and  he  has  been  racking  his  brains  to  find  out  something 
against  me.  That  rascally  German  doctor  has  found  him 
an  excuse,  and  so  he  throws  in  my  teeth,  as  fresh  dis- 
covered, what  he  must  have  known  years  ago." 

"  I  don't  think  that,  George.  I  don't  think  he  would  be 
so  deceitful." 

"  Not  naturally  he  wouldn't,  I  know ;  but  he  is  under 
the  thumb  of  that  doctor ;  and  you  know  how  he  hates  me 
— If  you  don't  I  do." 

"  I  don't  know  why  Dr.  Mulhaus  should  hate  you, 
George." 

"  I  do  though ;  that  sleeky  dog  Stockbridge,  who  is  such 
a  favourite  with  him,  has  poisoned  his  mind,  and  all  be- 
cause he  wanted  you  and  your  money,  and  because  you 
took  up  with  me  instead  of  him." 

"  Well  now,"  said  Mary  ;  "  don't  go  on  about  him — he 
is  gone,  at  all  events  ;  but  you  must  tell  me  what  this  is 
that  my  father  has  got  against  you." 

"  I  don't  like  to.  I  tell  you  it  is  against  my  father,  not 
me." 

"  Well !  "  she  answered  ;  "  if  it  was  any  one  but  me, 
perhaps,  you  ought  not  to  tell  it ;  but  you  ought  to  have  no 
secrets  from  me,  George — I  have  kept  none  from  you." 

"  Well,  my  darling,  I  will  tell  you  then  :  you  know 
Madge,  at  our  place  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  seen  her." 

"  Well,  it's  about  her.  She  and  my  father  live  together 
like  man  and  wife,  though  they  ain't  married  ;  and  the 
Vicar  must  have  known  that  these  years,  and  yet  now  he 
makes  it  an  excuse  for  getting  rid  of  me." 

"  I  always  thought  she  was  a  bad  woman,"  said  Mary  ; 
"  but  you  are  wrong  about  my  father.  He  never  knew  it 
till  now  I  am  certain  ;  and  of  course,  you  know,  he  natu- 

8? 


The  Recollections  of 

rally  won't  have  me  go  and  live  in  the  house  with  a  bad 
woman." 

"  Does  he  think  then,  or  do  you  think,"  replied  George, 
with  virtuous  indignation,  "  that  I  would  have  thought  of 
taking  you  there  ?  No,  I'd  sooner  have  taken  you  to 
America ! " 

"  Well,  so  I  believe,  George." 

"  This  won't  make  any  difference  in  you,  Mary  ?  No, 
I  needn't  ask  it,  you  wouldn't  have  come  here  to  meet  me 
to-night  if  that  had  been  the  case." 

"  It  ought  to  make  a  difference,  George,"  she  replied  ; 
"  I  am  afraid  I  oughtn't  to  come  out  here  and  see  you, 
when  my  father  don't  approve  of  it." 

"  But  you  will  come,  my  little  darling,  for  all  that ;  "  he 
said.  "  Not  here  though — the  devil  only  knows  who  may 
be  loitering  round  here.  Half  a  dozen  pair  of  lovers  a 
night  perhaps — no,  meet  me  up  in  the  croft  of  a  night.  I 
am  often  in  at  Gosford's  of  an  evening,  and  I  can  see 
your  window  from  there,  you  put  a  candle  in  the  right- 
hand  corner  when  you  want  to  see  me,  and  I'll  be  down 
in  a  very  few  minutes.  I  shall  come  every  evening  and 
watch." 

"  Indeed,"  she  said,  "  I  won't  do  anything  of  the  sort ; 
at  least,  unless  I  have  something  very  particular  to  say. 
Then,  indeed,  I  might  do  such  a  thing.  Now  I  must  go 
home  or  they  will  be  missing  me." 

"  Stay  a  minute,  Mary,"  said  he  ;  "  you  just  listen  to  me. 
They  will,  some  of  them,  be  trying  to  take  my  character 
away.  You  won't  throw  me  off  without  hearing  my  de- 
fence, dear  Mary,  I  know  you  won't.  Let  me  hear  what 
lies  they  tell  of  me,  and  don't  you  condemn  me  unheard 
because  I  come  from  a  bad  house.  Tell  me  that  you'll 
give  me  a  chance  of  clearing  myself  with  you,  my  girl, 
and  I'll  go  home  in  peace  and  wait." 

What  girl  could  resist  the  man  she  loved  so  truly,  when 
he  pleaded  so  well  ?  With  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and 
his  handsome  face  bent  over  her,  lit  up  with  what  she 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

took  to  be  love.  Not  she,  at  all  events.  She  drew  the 
handsome  face  down  towards  her,  and  as  she  kissed  him 
fervently,  said : 

"  I  will  never  believe  what  they  say  of  you,  love.  I 
should  die  if  I  lost  you.  I  will  stay  by  you  through  evil 
report  and  good  report.  What  is  all  the  world  to  me 
without  you  ?  " 

And  she  felt  what  she  said,  and  meant  it.  What  though 
the  words  in  which  she  spoke  were  borrowed  from  the 
trashy  novels  she  was  always  reading — they  were  true 
enough  for  all  that.  George  saw  that  they  were  true,  and 
saw  also  that  now  was  the  time  to  speak  about  what  he 
had  been  pondering  over  all  day. 

"  And  suppose,  my  own  love,"  he  said  ;  "  that  your 
father  should  stay  in  his  present  mind,  and  not  come 
round  ?  " 

"  Well !  "  she  said. 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  are  we  to  be  al- 
ways content  with  meeting  here  and  there,  when  we  dare  ? 
Is  there  nothing  further  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said  in  a  whisper.  "  What 
shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  answer  that  ?  "  he  said  softly.     "  Try." 

"  No,  I  can't  answer.     You  tell  me  what." 

"  Fly  !  "  he  said  in  her  ear.  "  Fly,  and  get  married, 
that's  what  I  mean." 

"  Oh !  that's  what  you  mean,"  she  replied.  "  Oh, 
George,  I  should  not  have  courage  for  that." 

"  I  think  you  will,  my  darling,  when  the  time  comes. 
Go  home  and  think  about  it." 

He  kissed  her  once  more,  and  then  she  ran  away  home- 
ward through  the  dark.  But  she  did  not  run  far  before 
she  began  to  walk  slower  and  think. 

"  Fly  with  him,"  she  thought.  "  Run  away  and  get 
married.  What  a  delightfully  wild  idea.  Not  to  be 'en- 
tertained for  a  moment,  of  course,  but  still  what  a  pleas- 
ant notion.  She  meant  to  marry  George  in  the  end  ; 


The  Recollections  of 

why  not  that  way  as  well  as  any  other  ?  She  thought 
about  it  again  and  again,  and  the  idea  grew  more  familiar. 
At  all  events',  if  her  father  should  continue  obstinate,  here 
was  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  He  would  be  angry  at 
first,  but  when  he  found  he  could  not  help  himself  he 
would  come  round,  and  then  they  would  all  be  happy. 
She  would  shut  her  ears  to  anything  they  said  against 
George.  She  could  not  believe  it.  She  would  not.  He 
should  be  her  husband,  come  what  might.  She  would 
dissemble,  and  keep  her  father's  suspicions  quiet.  More, 
she  would  speak  lightly  of  George,  and  make  them  believe 
she  did  not  care  for  him.  But  most  of  all,  she  would 
worm  from  her  father  everything  she  could  about  him. 
Her  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  she  fancied,  perhaps, 
George  had  not  told  her  all  the  truth.  Perhaps  he  might 
be  entangled  with  some  other  woman.  She  would  find  it 
all  out  if  she  could." 

So  confusedly  thinking  she  reached  home,  and  ap- 
proaching the  door,  heard  the  noise  of  many  voices  in  the 
parlour.  There  was  evidently  company,  and  in  her  pres- 
ent excited  state  nothing  would  suit  her  better  ;  so  sliding 
up  to  her  room,  and  changing  her  dress  a  little,  she  came 
down  and  entered  the  parlour. 

"  Behold,"  cried  the  Doctor,  as  she  entered  the  room, 
"  the  evening-star  has  arisen  at  last.  My  dear  young 
lady,  we  have  been  loudly  lamenting  your  absence  and 
indisposition." 

"  I  have  been  listening  to  your  lamentations,  Doctor," 
she  replied.  "  They  were  certainly  loud,  and  from  the 
frequent  bursts  of  laughter,  I  judged  they  were  getting 
hysterical,  so  I  came  down." 

There  was  quite  a  party  assembled.  The  Vicar  and 
Major  Buckley  were  talking  earnestly  together.  Trou- 
bridge  and  the  Doctor  were  side  by  side,  while  next  the 
fire  was  Mrs.  Buckley,  with  young  Sam  asleep  on  her  lap, 
and  Miss  Thornton  sitting  quietly  beside  her. 

Having  saluted  them  all,  Mary  sat  down  by  Mrs.  Buck- 
go 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

ley,  and  began  talking  to  her.  Then  the  conversation 
flowed  back  into  the  channel  it  had  been  following  before 
her  arrival. 

"  I  mean  to  say,  Vicar,"  said  the  Major,  "  that  it  would 
be  better  to  throw  the  four  packs  into  two.  Then  you 
would  have  less  squabbling  and  bickering  about  the  dif- 
ferent boundaries,  and  you  would  kill  the  same  number  of 
hares  with  half  the  dogs." 

"  And  you  would  throw  a  dozen  men  out  of  work,  sir," 
replied  the  Vicar,  "  in  this  parish  and  the  next,  and  that  is 
to  be  considered;  and  about  half  the  quantity  of  meat 
and  horseflesh  would  be  consumed,  which  is  another  con- 
sideration. I  tell  you  I  believe  things  are  better  as  they 
are." 

"  I  hear  they  got  a  large  stern-cabin ;  did  they,  Mr. 
Troubridge?  "  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  hope  they'll  be  com- 
fortable. They  should  have  got  more  amidships  if  they 
could.  They  will  be  sick  the  longer  in  their  position." 

"  Poor  boys !  "  said  Troubridge  ;  "  they'll  be  more  heart- 
sick than  stomach-sick,  I  expect.  They'd  half-repented 
before  they  sailed." 

Mary  sat  down  by  Mrs.  Buckley,  and  had  half  an  hour's 
agreeable  conversation  with  her,  till  they  all  rose  to  go. 
Mrs.  Buckley  was  surprised  at  her  sprightliness  and  good 
spirits,  for  she  had  expected  to  find  her  in  tears.  The 
Doctor  had  met  the  Major  in  the  morning,  and  told  him 
what  had  passed  the  night  before,  so  Mrs.  Buckley  had 
come  in  to  cheer  Mary  up  for  the  loss  of  her  lover,  and  to 
her  surprise  found  her  rather  more  merry  than  usual. 
This  made  the  good  lady  suspect  at  once  that  Mary  did 
not  treat  the  matter  very  seriously,  or  else  was  determined 
to  defy  her  father,  which,  as  Mrs.  Buckley  reflected,  she 
was  perfectly  able  to  do,  being  rich  in  her  own  right,  and 
of  age.  So  when  she  was  putting  on  her  shawl  to  go 
home,  she  kissed  Mary,  and  said  kindly, — 

"  My  love,  I  hope  you  will  always  honour  and  obey  your 
father,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  always,  under  all  circum- 


The  Recollections  of 

stances,  remember  that  I  am  your  true  friend.  Good 
night." 

And  having  bidden  her  good  night,  Mary  went  in.  The 
Doctor  was  gone  with  the  Major,  but  Tom  Troubridge 
sat  still  before  the  fire,  and  as  she  came  in  was  just  finish- 
ing off  one  of  his  thundering  fits  of  laughter  at  something 
that  the  Vicar  had  said. 

"  My  love,"  said  the  Vicar, "  I  am  so  sorry  you  have 
been  poorly,  though  you  look  better  to-night.  Your  dear 
aunt  has  been  to  Tom's  room,  so  there  is  nothing  to  do, 
but  to  sit  down  and  talk  to  us." 

"  Why,  cousin  Tom,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  I  had  quite 
forgot  you ;  at  least,  quite  forgot  you  were  going  to  stay 
here.  Why,  what  a  time  it  is  since  I  saw  you." 

"  Isn't  it?  "  he  replied  ;  "  such  a  very  long  time.  If  I 
remember  right,  we  met  last  out  at  the  gate.  Let's  see. 
How  long  was  that  ago  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  remember,"  she  replied  ;  "  you're  big 
enough.  Well,  good  night.  I'm  going  to  bed." 

She  went  to  her  room,  but  not  to  bed.  She  sat  in  the 
window,  looking  at  the  stars,  pale  in  the  full  moonlight, 
wondering.  Wondering  what  George  was  doing.  Won- 
dering whether  she  would  listen  to  his  audacious  proposal. 
And  wondering,  lastly,  what  on  earth  her  father  would 
say  if  she  did. 

Chapter  X 
In  which  we  see  a  good  deal  of  Mischief  brewing 

A  MONTH  went  on,  and  May  was  well  advanced.  The 
lanes  had  grown  dark  and  shadowy  with  their  summer 
bravery ;  the  banks  were  a  rich  mass  of  verdure  once 
more,  starred  with  wild-rose  and  eglantine  ;  and  on  the 
lesser  woodland  stream,  the  king  fern  was  again  conceal- 
ing the  channel  with  brilliant  golden  fronds  ;  while  brown 
bare  thorn-thickets,  through  which  the  wind  had  whistled 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

savagely  all  winter,  were  now  changed  into  pbasant 
bowers,  where  birds  might  build  and  sing. 

A  busy  month  this  had  been  for  the  Major.  Fishing 
every  day,  and  pretty  near  all  day,  determined,  as  he  said, 
to  make  the  most  of  it,  for  fear  it  should  be  his  last  year. 
There  was  a  beaten  path  worn  through  the  growing  grass 
all  down  the  side  of  the  stream  by  his  sole  exertions ;  and 
now  the  May-fly  was  coming,  and  there  would  be  no  more 
fishing  in  another  week,  so  he  worked  harder  than  ever. 
Mrs.  Buckley  used  to  bring  down  her  son  and  heir,  and 
sit  under  an  oak  by  the  river-side,  sewing.  Pleasant,  long 
days  they  were  when  dinner  would  be  brought  down  to 
the  old  tree,  and  she  would  spend  the  day  there,  among 
the  long  meadow-grass,  purple  and  yellow  with  flowers, 
bending  under  the  soft  west  wind.  Pleasant  to  hear  the 
corncrake  by  the  hedge-side,  or  the  moorhen  in  the  water. 
But  pleasantest  of  all  was  the  time  when  her  husband, 
tired  of  fishing,  would  come  and  sit  beside  her,  and  the 
boy,  throwing  his  lately-petted  flowers  to  the  wind,  would 
run  crowing  to  the  spotted  beauties  which  his  father  had 
laid  out  for  him  on  the  grass. 

The  Vicar  was  busy  in  his  garden,  and  the  Doctor  was 
often  helping  him,  although  the  most  of  his  time  was 
spent  in  natural  history,  to  which  he  seemed  entirely  de- 
voted. One  evening  they  had  been  employed  rather  later 
than  usual,  and  the  Doctor  was  just  gone,  when  the  Vicar 
turned  round  and  saw  that  his  sister  was  come  out,  with 
her  basket  and  scissors,  to  gather  a  fresh  bouquet  for  the 
drawing-room. 

So  he  went  to  join  her,  and  as  he  approached  her  he  ad- 
mired her  with  an  affectionate  admiration.  Such  a  neat, 
trim  figure,  with  the  snow-white  handkerchief  over  her 
head,  and  her  white  garden  gloves ;  what  a  contrast  to 
Mary,  he  thought ;  "  Both  good  of  their  sort,  though,"  he 
added. 

"  Good  evening,  brother,"  began  Miss  Thornton.  "  Was 
not  that  Dr.  Mulhaus  went  from  you  just  now  ?  " 

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The  Recollections  of 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  You  had  letters  of  introduction  to  Dr.  Mulhaus  when 
he  came  to  reside  in  this  village  ?  "  asked  Miss  Thornton. 

"  Yes ;  Lord  C — ,  whom  I  knew  at  Oxford,  recom- 
mended me  to  him." 

"  His  real  name,  I  daresay,  is  not  Mulhaus.  Do  you 
know  what  his  real  name  is,  brother  ?  " 

How  very  awkward  plain  plump  questions  of  this  kind 
are.  The  Vicar  would  have  liked  to  answer  "  No,"  but 
he  could  not  tell  a  lie.  He  was  also  a  very  bad  hand  at 
prevaricating ;  so  with  a  stammer,  he  said  "  Yes  !  " 

"  So  do  I !  "  said  Miss  Thornton. 

"  Good  Lord,  my  dear,  how  did  you  find  it  out  ?  " 

"  I  recognised  him  the  first  instant  I  saw  him,  and  was 
struck  dumb.  I  was  very  discreet,  and  have  never  said  a 
word  even  to  you  till  now  ;  and,  lately,  I  have  been  think- 
ing that  you  might  know,  and  so  I  thought  I  would  sound 
you." 

"  I  suppose  you  saw  him  when  you  were  with  her  lady- 
ship in  Paris,  in  '14  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  often,"  said  Miss  Thornton.  "  He  came  to  the 
house  several  times.  How  well  I  remember  the  last.  The 
dear  girls  and  I  were  in  the  conservatory  in  the  morning, 
and  all  of  a  sudden  we  heard  the  door  thrown  open,  and 
two  men  coming  towards  us  talking  from  the  breakfast- 
room.  We  could  not  see  them  for  the  plants,  but  when 
we  heard  the  voice  of  one  of  them,  the  girls  got  into  a  ter- 
rible flutter,  and  I  was  very  much  frightened  myself. 
However,  there  was  no  escape,  so  we  came  round  the 
corner  on  them  as  bold  as  we  could,  and  there  was  this 
Dr.  Mulhaus,  as  we  call  him,  walking  with  him." 

"  With  him  ? — with  who  ?  " 

"  The  Emperor  Alexander,  my  dear,  whose  voice  we 
had  recognised  ;  I  thought  you  would  have  known  whom 
I  meant." 

"  My  dear  love,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  I  hope  you  reflect 
how  sacred  that  is,  and  what  a  good  friend  I  should  lose 
94 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

if  the  slightest  hint  as  to  who  he  was,  were  to  get  among 
the  gentry  round.  You  don't  think  he  has  recognised 
you  ?  " 

"  How  is  it  likely,  brother,  that  he  would  remember  an 
English  governess,  whom  he  never  saw  but  three  times, 
and  never  looked  at  once  ?  I  have  often  wondered  whether 
the  Major  recognised  him." 

"  No ;  Buckley  is  a  Peninsular  man,  and  although  at 
Waterloo,  never  went  to  Paris.  Lans — Mulhaus,  I  mean, 
was  not  present  at  Waterloo.  So  they  never  could  have 
met.  My  dear  discreet  old  sister,  what  tact  you  have ! 
I  have  often  said  to  myself,  when  I  have  seen  you  and  he 
together,  '  If  she  only  knew  who  he  was  ; '  and  to  think 
of  your  knowing  all  the  time.  Ha !  ha !  ha  !  That's  very 
good." 

"  I  have  lived  long  where  tact  is  required,  my  dear 
brother.  See,  there  goes  young  Mr.  Hawker  !  " 

"  I'd  sooner  see  him  going  home  than  coming  here. 
Now,  I'd  go  out  for  a  turn  in  the  lanes,  but  I  know  I 
should  meet  half  a  dozen  couples  courting,  as  they  call  it. 
Bah  !  So  I'll  stay  in  the  garden." 

The  Vicar  was  right  about  the  lanes  being  full  of  lovers. 
Never  a  vista  that  you  looked  down  but  what  you  saw  a 
ghostly  pair,  walking  along  side  by  side.  Not  arm  in  arm, 
you  know.  The  man  has  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
walks  a  few  feet  off  the  woman.  They  never  speak  to 
one  another — I  think  I  don't  go  too  far  in  saying  that.  I 
have  met  them  and  overtaken  them,  and  come  sharp  round 
corners  on  to  them,  but  I  never  heard  them  speak  to  one 
another.  I  have  asked  the  young  men  themselves  whether 
they  ever  said  anything  to  their  sweethearts,  and  those 
young  men  have  answered,  "  No  ;  that  they  didn't  know 
as  they  did."  So  that  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  they 
are  contented  with  that  silent  utterance  of  the  heart  which 
is  so  superior  to  the  silly  whisperings  one  hears  on  dark 
ottomans  in  drawing-rooms. 

But   the  Vicar  had  a  strong  dislike  to  lovers'  walks. 

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The  Recollections  of 

He  was  a  practical  man,  and  had  studied  parish  statistics 
for  some  years,  so  that  his  opinion  is  entitled  to  respect. 
He  used  to -ask,  why  an  honest  girl  should  not  receive  her 
lover  at  her  father's  house,  or  in  broad  daylight,  and  many 
other  impertinent  questions  which  we  won't  go  into,  but 
which  many  a  west-country  parson  has  asked  before,  and 
never  got  an  answer  to. 

Of  all  pleasant  places  in  the  parish,  surely  one  of  the 
pleasantest  for  a  meeting  of  this  kind  was  the  old  oak  at 
the  end  of  Hawker's  plantation,  where  George  met  Nelly 
a  night  we  know  of.  So  quiet  and  lonely,  and  such 
pleasant  glimpses  down  long  oaken  glades,  with  a  bright 
carpet  of  springing  fern.  Surely  there  will  be  a  couple 
here  this  sweet  May  evening. 

So  there  is  !  Walking  this  way  too  !  George  Hawker 
is  one  of  them  ;  but  we  can't  see  who  the  other  is.  Who 
should  it  be  but  Mary,  though,  with  whom  he  should  walk, 
with  his  arm  round  her  waist  talking  so  affectionately. 
But  see,  she  raises  her  head.  Why  !  that  is  not  Mary. 
That  is  old  Jewel's  dowdy,  handsome,  brazen-faced  grand- 
daughter. 

"  Now  I'm  going  home  to  supper,  Miss  Jenny,"  he  says. 
"  So  you  pack  off,  or  you'll  have  your  amiable  mother  ask- 
ing after  you.  By-the-bye,  your  sister's  going  to  be 
married,  ain't  she  ?  " 

He  referred  to  her  elder  sister — the  one  that  the  Vicar 
and  the  Doctor  saw  nursing  a  baby  the  night  that  old 
Jewel  died. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl.  "  Her  man's  going  to  have  her 
at  last ;  that's  his  baby  she's  got,  you  know  ;  and  it  seems 
he'll  sooner  make  her  work  for  keeping  it,  than  pay  for  it 
hisself.  So  they're  going  to  be  married  ;  better  late  than 
never." 

George   left  her  and  went  in  ;   into   the  gloomy  old 
kitchen,  now  darkening  rapidly.     There  sat  Madge  before 
the  fire,  in   her  favourite  attitude,  with  her  chin  on   her 
hand  and  her  elbow  on  her  knee. 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  Well,  old  woman,"  said  he,  "  where's  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  Away  to  Colyton  fair,"  she  answered. 

"  I  hope  he'll  have  the  sense  to  stay  there  to-night, 
then,"  said  George.  "  He'll  fall  off  his  horse  in  a  fit  com- 
ing home  drunk  some  of  these  nights,  and  be  found  dead 
in  a  ditch  ! " 

"  Good  thing  for  you  if  he  was !  " 

"  May  be,"  said  George ;  "  but  I'd  be  sorry  for  him, 
too  ! " 

"  You  would,"  she  said  laughing.  "  Why,  you  young 
fool,  you'd  be  better  off  in  fifty  ways  !  " 

"  Why,  you  unnatural  old  vixen,"  said  he  indignantly, 
"  do  you  miscall  a  man  for  caring  for  his  own  father  ? 
Aye,  and  not  such  a  bad  'un  either;  and  that's  a  thing 
I'm  best  judge  of  !  " 

"  He's  been  a  good  father  to  you,  George,  and  I  like 
you  the  better,  lad,  for  speaking  up  for  him.  He's  an  aw- 
ful old  rascal,  my  boy,  but  you'll  be  a  worse  if  you  live  !  " 

"  Now,  stop  that  talk  of  yours,  Madge,  and  don't  go  on 
like  a  mad  woman,  or  else  we  shall  quarrel ;  and  that  I 
don't  want,  for  I've  got  something  to  tell  you.  I  want 
your  help,  old  girl !  " 

"  Aye,  and  you'll  get  it,  my  pretty  boy ;  though  you 
never  tell  me  aught  till  you  are  forced." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something  now;  so  keep 
your  ears  open.  Madge,  where  is  the  girl  ?  " 

"  Up-stairs." 

"  Where's  the  man  ?  " 

"  Outside,  in  the  stable,  doing  down  your  horse.  Bend 
over  the  fire,  and  whisper  in  my  ear,  lad  !  " 

"  Madge,  old  girl,"  he  whispered,  as  they  bent  their 
heads  together, — "  I've  wrote  the  old  man's  name  where 
I  oughtn't  to  have  done." 

"  What !  again  !  "  she  answered.  "  Three  times  !  For 
God's  sake,  mind  what  you  are  at,  George." 

"  Why,"  said  he,  astonished,  "  did  you  know  I'd  done 
it  before  ?  " 

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The  Recollections  of 

"  Twice  I  know  of,"  she  said.  "  Once  last  year,  and 
once  last  month.  How  do  you  think  he'd  have  been  so 
long  without  finding  it  out  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  ?  And 
what  a  fool  you  were  not  to  tell  me  before.  Why,  you 
must  be  mad.  I  as  near  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  coming 
over  that  last  business  in  the  book  without  being  ready  for 
it,  as  anything  could  be.  However,  it's  all  right  at  present. 
But  what's  this  last?  " 

"  Why,  the  five  hundred.     I  only  did  it  twice." 

"  You  mustn't  do  it  again,  George.  You  were  a  fool 
ever  to  do  it  without  me.  We  are  hardly  safe  now,  if  he 
should  get  talking  to  the  bank  people.  However,  he  never 
goes  there,  and  you  must  take  care  he  don't." 

"  I  say,  Madge,"  said  George,  "  what  would  he  do  if  he 
found  it  out  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  answer  for  him,"  said  she.  "  He  likes  you 
best  of  anything  next  his  money ;  and  sometimes  I  am 
afraid  he  wouldn't  spare  even  you  if  he  knew  he  had  been 
robbed.  You  might  make  yourself  safe  for  any  storm,  if 
you  liked." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Marry  that  little  doll  Thornton,  and  get  her  money. 
Then,  if  it  came  to  a  row,  you  could  square  it  up." 

"  Well,"  said  George,  "  I  am  pushing  that  on.  The  old 
man  won't  come  round,  and  I  want  her  to  go  off  with  me, 
but  she  can't  get  her  courage  up  yet." 

"  Well,  at  all  events,"  said  Madge,  "  you  should  look 
sharp.  There's  a  regular  tight-laced  mob  about  her,  and 
they  all  hate  you.  There's  that  Mrs.  Buckley.  Her  con- 
versation will  be  very  different  from  yours,  and  she'll  see 
the  difference,  and  get  too  proud  for  the  like  of  you.  That 
woman's  a  real  lady,  and  that's  very  dangerous,  for  she 
treats  her  like  an  equal.  Just  let  that  girl  get  over  her 
first  fancy  for  you,  and  she'll  care  no  more  about  you  than 
nothing.  Get  hold  of  her  before  she's  got  tired  of  you." 

"  And  there's  another  thing,"  said  George.    "  That  Tom 
Troubridge  is  staying  there  again." 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  That's  very  bad,"  said  Madge.  "  She  is  very  likely  to 
take  a  fancy  to  him.  He's  a  fine  young  fellow.  You  get 
her  to  go  off  with  you.  I'll  find  the  money,  somehow. 
Here  comes  the  old  man." 

Old  Hawker  came  in  half-drunk  and  sulky. 

"  Why  George,"  he  said ;  "  you  at  home.  I  thought 
you'd  have  been  down,  hanging  about  the  parson's.  You 
don't  get  on  very  fast  with  that  girl,  lad.  I  thought  you'd 
have  had  her  by  now.  You're  a  fool,  boy." 

He  reeled  up  to  bed,  and  left  the  other  two  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  George,"  said  Madge,  "  tell  us  what  you  did  with  that 
last  money." 

"  I  ain't  going  to  tell  you,"  he  answered. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  she  said  ; ""  you  hadn't  need  to  hide  anything 
from  me  now." 

"  Well,  I  like  to  tell  you  this  least  of  all,"  he  said. 
"  That  last  money  went  to  hush  up  the  first  matter." 

"  Did  any  one  know  of  the  first  matter,  then  ?  "  said 
Madge  aghast. 

"  Yes ;  the  man  who  put  me  up  to  it." 

"  Who  was  that  ?  " 

"  No  one  you  know.    William  Lee  of  Belston." 

"  No  one  I  know,"  she  answered  sarcastically.  "  Not 
know  my  old  sweetheart,  Bill  Lee  of  Belston.  And  I  the 
only  one  that  knew  him  when  he  came  back.  Well,  I've 
kept  that  to  myself,  because  no  good  was  to  be  got  by 
peaching  on  him,  and  a  secret's  always  worth  money. 
Why,  lad,  I  could  have  sent  that  man  abroad  again  quicker 
than  he  come,  if  I  had  a-wanted.  Why  hadn't  you  trusted 
me  at  first  ?  You'd  a-saved  five  hundred  pound.  You'll 
have  him  back  as  soon  as  that's  gone." 

"  He'd  better  mind  himself,  then,"  said  George  vin- 
dictively. 

"  None  o*  that  now,"  said  Madge ;  "  that's  what  you 
were  after  the  other  night  with  your  gun.  But  nothing 
came  of  it ;  I  saw  that  in  your  face  when  you  came  home. 

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The  Recollections  of 

Now  get  off  to  bed ;  and  if  Bill  Lee  gives  you  any  more 
trouble,  send  him  to  me." 

He  went  to  bed,  but  instead  of  sleeping  lay  thinking. 

"  It  would  be  a  fine  thing,"  he  thought,  "  to  get  her  and 
her  money.  I  am  very  fond  of  her  for  her  own  sake,  but 
then  the  money  would  be  the  making  of  me.  I  ought  to 
strike  while  the  iron  is  hot.  Who  knows  but  what  Nell 
might  come  gandering  back  in  one  of  her  tantrums,  and 
spoil  everything.  Or  some  of  the  other  girls  might  get 
talking.  And  this  cursed  cheque,  too ;  that  ought  to  be 
provided  against.  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  tell  Madge 
about  it  before.  I  wonder  whether  she  is  game  to  come, 
though  I  think  she  is ;  she  has  been  very  tender  lately.  It 
don't  look  as  if  she  was  getting  tired  of  me,  though  she 
might  take  a  fancy  into  her  head  about  Troubridge.  I 
daresay  her  father  is  putting  him  up  to  it ;  though,  indeed, 
that  would  be  sure  to  set  her  against  him.  If  he  hadn't 
done  that  with  Stockbridge,  she'd  have  married  him,  I  be- 
lieve. Well,  I'll  see  her  to-morrow  night,  and  carry  on 
like  mad.  Terribly  awkward  it  will  be,  though,  if  she 
won't.  However,  we'll  see.  There's  a  way  to  make  her  ;  " 
and  so  he  fell  asleep. 

As  Somebody  would  have  it,  the  very  next  day  the 
Vicar  and  Mary  had  a  serious  quarrel.  Whether  his  di- 
gestion was  out  of  order ;  whether  the  sight  of  so  many 
love-couples  passing  his  gate  the  night  before  had  ruffled 
him  and  made  him  bilious  ;  or  whether  some  one  was  be- 
hindhand with  his  tithe,  we  shall  never  know.  Only  we 
know,  that  shortly  after  dinner  they  disagreed  about  some 
trifle,  and  Mary  remained  sulky  all  the  afternoon  ;  and  at 
tea-time,  driven  on  by  pitiless  fate,  little  thinking  what  was 
hanging  over  him,  he  made  some  harsh  remark,  which 
brought  down  a  flood  of  tears.  Whereat,  getting  into  a 
passion,  he  told  Mary,  somewhat  unjustly,  that  she  was 
always  sulking,  and  was  making  his  life  miserable.  That 
it  was  time  that  she  was  married.  That  Tom  Troubridge 
was  an  excellent  young  fellow,  and  that  he  considered  it 
roo 


Geoff  ry  Hamlyn 

was  her  duty  to  turn  her  attention  immediately  to  gaining 
his  affections. 

Mary  said,  with  tearful  indignation,  that  it  was  notorious 
that  he  was  making  love  to  Miss  Burrit  of  Paiskow.  And 
that  if  he  wasn't,  she'd  never,  never,  think  of  him,  for  that 
he  was  a  great,  lumbering,  stupid,  stupid  fool.  There 
now. 

Then  the  Vicar  got  into  an  unholy  frame  of  mind,  and 
maddened  by  Mary's  tears,  and  the  sight  of  his  sister  wip- 
ing her  frightened  face  with  her  handkerchief,  said,  with 
something  like  an  asseveration,  that  she  was  always  at  it. 
That  she  was  moping  about,  and  colloguing  with  that  in- 
famous young  scoundrel,  Hawker.  That  he  would  not 
have  it.  That  if  he  found  him  lurking  about  his  premises, 
he'd  either  break  his  neck  himself,  or  find  some  one  who 
could;  and  a  great  deal  more  frantic  nonsense,  such  as 
weak  men  generally  indulge  in  when  they  get  in  a  pas- 
sion ;  much  better  left  unsaid  at  any  time,  but  which  on 
this  occasion,  as  the  reader  knows,  was  calculated  to  be 
ruinous. 

Mary  left  the  room,  and  went  to  her  own.  She  was  in 
a  furious  passion  against  her  father,  against  all  the  world. 
She  sat  on  the  bed  for  a  time,  and  cried  herself  quiet.  It 
grew  dark,  and  she  lit  a'  candle,  and  put  it  in  the  right 
corner  of  the  window,  and  soon  after,  wrapping  a  shawl 
around  her,  she  slipped  down  the  back-stairs,  and  went 
into  the  croft. 

Not  long  before  she  heard  a  low  whistle,  to  which  she 
replied,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  felt  George's  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  his  cheek  against  hers. 

"  I  knew  you  would  not  disappoint  me  to-night,  my 
love,"  he  began.  "  I  have  got  something  particular  to  say 
to  you.  You  seem  out  of  sorts  to-night,  my  dear.  It's 
not  my  fault,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Not  yours,  George.  Oh  no,"  she  said.  "  My  father 
has  been  very  cruel  and  unjust  to  me,  and  I  have  been  in 
a  great  passion  and  very  miserable.  I  am  so  glad  you 


The  Recollections  of 

came  to-night,  that  I  might  tell  you  how  very  unhappy  I 
was." 

"  Tell  me  everything,  my  love.  Don't  keep  back  any 
secrets  from  me." 

"  I  won't  indeed,  George.  I'll  tell  you  everything. 
Though  some  of  it  will  make  you  very  angry.  My  father 
broke  out  about  you  at  tea-time,  and  said  that  you  were 
hanging  about  the  place,  and  that  he  wouldn't  have  it. 
And  then  he  said  that  I  ought  to  marry  Tom  Troubridge, 
and  that  I  said  I'd  never  do.  And  then  he  went  on  worse 
again.  He's  quite  changed  lately,  George.  I  ain't  at  all 
happy  with  him." 

"  The  cure  is  in  your  own  hands,  Mary.  Come  off 
with  me.  I  can  get  a  licence,  and  we  could  be  married  in 
a  week  or  so,  or  two.  Then,  what  follows  ?  Why,  your 
father  is  very  angry.  He  is  that  at  present.  But  he'll  of 
course  make  believe  he  is  in  a  terrible  way.  Well,  in  a 
few  weeks  he'd  see  it  was  no  use  carrying  on.  That  his 
daughter  had  married  a  young  man  of  property,  who  was 
very  fond  of  her,  and  as  she  was  very  fond  of.  And  that 
matters  might  be  a  deal  worse.  That  a  bird  in  hand 
is  worth  two  in  the  bush.  And  so  he'll  write  a  kind  af- 
fectionate letter  to  his  only  child,  and  say  that  he  forgives 
her  husband  for  her  sake.  That's  how  the  matter  will 
end,  depend  upon  it." 

"  Oh,  George,  George !  if  I  could  only  think  so." 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ?  Use  your  reason,  my  dear,  and 
ask  yourself  what  he  would  gain  by  holding  out.  You 
say  he's  so  fond  of  you." 

"  Oh,  I  know  he  is." 

"  Well,  my  darling,  he  wouldn't  show  it  much  if  he  was 
angry  very  long.  You  don't  know  what  a  change  it  will 
make  when  the  thing's  once  done.  When  I  am  his  son- 
in-law  he'll  be  as  anxious  to  find  out  that  I'm  a  saint  as  he 
is  now  to  make  me  out  a  sinner.  Say  yes,  my  girl." 

"  I  am  afraid,  George." 

"  Of  nothing.     Come,  you  are  going  to  say  yes,  now." 
102 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

••  But  when,  George  ?     Not  yet  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  night." 

"  Impossible  !     Sunday  evening  ?  " 

"  The  better  the  day  the  better  the  deed.  Come,  no  re- 
fusal now,  it  is  too  late,  my  darling.  At  ten  o'clock  I  shall 
be  here,  under  your  window.  One  kiss  more,  my  own, 
and  good  night." 

Chapter  XI 

In  which  the  Vicar  preaches  a  Farewell  Sermon 

WHO  has  not  seen  the  misery  and  despair  often  caused 
in  a  family  by  the  senseless  selfishness  of  one  of  its  mem- 
bers ?  Who  has  not  felt  enraged  at  such  times,  to  think 
that  a  man  or  woman  should  presume  on  the  affection  and 
kindheartedness  of  their  relatives,  and  yet  act  as  if  they 
were  wholly  without  those  affections  themselves  ?  And, 
lastly,  who  of  us  all  is  guiltless  of  doing  this  ?  Let  him 
that  is  without  sin  among  us  cast  the  first  stone. 

The  Spring  sun  rose  on  the  Sabbath  morning,  as  if  no 
trouble  were  in  store  for  any  mortal  that  day.  The  Vicar 
rose  with  the  sun,  for  he  had  certain  arrears  of  the  day's 
sermons  to  get  through,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of  say- 
ing that  his  best  and  clearest  passages  were  written  with 
his  window  open,  in  the  brisk  morning  air. 

But  although  the  air  was  brisk  and  pleasant  this  morn- 
ing, and  all  nature  was  in  full  glory,  the  inspiration  did 
not  come  to  the  Vicar  quite  so  readily  as  usual.  In  fact, 
he  could  not  write  at  all,  and  at  one  time  was  thinking  of 
pleading  ill  health,  and  not  preaching,  but  afterwards 
changed  his  mind,  and  patched  the  sermons  up  somehow, 
making  both  morning  and  afternoon  five  minutes  shorter 
than  usual. 

He  felt  queer  and  dull  in  the  head  this  morning.  And, 
after  breakfast,  he  walked  to  church  with  his  sister  and 
daughter,  not  speaking  a  word.  Miss  Thornton  was 
103 


The  Recollections  of 

rather  alarmed,  he  looked  so  dull  and  stupid.     But  Mary 
set  it  all  down  to  his  displeasure  at  her. 

She  was  so  busy  with  far  other  thoughts  at  church  that 
she  did  not  notice  the  strange  halting  way  in  which  her 
father  read  the  service — sometimes  lisping,  sometimes 
trying  twice  before  he  could  pronounce  a  word  at  all. 
But,  after  church,  Miss  Thornton  noticed  it  to  her ;  and 
she  also  noticed,  as  they  stood  waiting  for  him  under  the 
lychgate,  that  he  passed  through  the  crowd  of  neighbours, 
who  stood  as  usual  round  the  porch  to  receive  him,  with- 
out a  word,  merely  raising  his  hat  in  salutation.  Conduct 
so  strange  that  Miss  Thornton  began  to  cry,  and  said  she 
was  sure  her  brother  was  very  ill.  But  Mary  said  it  was 
because  he  was  still  angry  with  her  that  he  spoke  to  no 
one,  and  that  when  he  had  forgotten  his  cause  of  offence 
he  would  be  the  same  again. 

At  lunch,  the  Vicar  drank  several  glasses  of  wine,  which 
seemed  to  do  him  good  ;  and  by  the  time  he  had,  to  Miss 
Thornton's  great  astonishment,  drunk  half  a  bottle,  he 
was  quite  himself  again.  Mary  was  all  this  time  in  her 
room,  and  the  Vicar  asked  for  her.  But  Miss  Thornton 
said  she  was  not  very  well. 

"  Oh,  I  remember,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  I  quarrelled  with 
her  last  night.  I  was  quite  in  the  wrong,  but,  my  dear 
sister,  all  yesterday  and  to-day  I  have  been  so  nervous,  I 
have  not  known  what  I  said  or  did.  I  shall  keep  myself 
up  to  the  afternoon  service  with  wine,  and  to-morrow  we 
will  see  the  Doctor.  Don't  tell  Mary  I'm  ill.  She  will 
think  she  is  the  cause,  poor  girl." 

Afternoon  service  went  off  well  enough.  When  Mary 
heard  his  old  familiar  voice  strong,  clear,  and  harmonious, 
filling  the  aisles  and  chapels  of  the  beautiful  old  church, 
she  was  quite  reassured.  He  seemed  stronger  than  usual 
even,  and  never  did  the  congregation  listen  to  a  nobler  or 
better  sermon  from  his  lips,  than  the  one  they  heard  that 
spring  afternoon ;  the  last,  alas,  they  ever  had  from  their 
kind  old  Vicar. 

104 


Geoffry  Hanilyn 

Mary  could  not  listen  to  it.  The  old  innocent  interest 
she  used  to  have  in  her  father's  success  in  preaching  was 
gone.  As  of  old,  sitting  beneath  the  carved  oak  screen, 
she  heard  the  sweet  simple  harmony  of  the  evening  hymn 
roll  up,  and  die  in  pleasant  echoes  among  the  lofty  arches 
overhead.  As  of  old,  she  could  see  through  the  rich  tra- 
ceried  windows  the  moor  sloping  far  away,  calm  and 
peaceful,  bathed  in  a  misty  halo  of  afternoon  sunshine. 
All  these  familiar  sights  and  sounds  were  the  same,  but 
she  herself  was  different.  She  was  about  to  break  rudely 
through  from  the  old  world  of  simple  routine  and  homely 
pleasure,  and  to  cast  herself  unthinking  into  a  new  world 
of  passion  and  chance,  and  take  the  consequences  of  such 
a  step,  let  them  be  what  they  might.  She  felt  as  if  she  was 
the  possessor  of  some  guilty  secret,  and  felt  sometimes  as 
if  some  one  would  rise  in  church  and  denounce  her.  How 
would  all  these  quiet  folks  talk  of  her  to-morrow  morning  ? 
That  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  She  must  harden  her 
heart  and  think  of  nothing.  Only  that  to-morrow  she 
would  be  far  away  with  her  lover. 

Poor  Mary  !  many  a  woman,  and  many  a  man,  who  sat 
so  quiet  and  calm  in  the  old  church  that  afternoon,  had 
far  guiltier  secrets  than  any  you  ever  had,  to  trouble  them, 
and  yet  they  all  drank,  slept,  and  died,  as  quietly  as  many 
honest  and  good  men.  Poor  girl !  let  us  judge  as  kindly 
of  her  as  we  can,  for  she  paid  a  fearful  penalty  for  her 
self-will.  She  did  but  break  through  the  prejudices  of  her 
education,  we  may  say ;  and  if  she  was  undutiful,  what 
girls  are  not,  under  the  influence  of  passion  ?  If  such 
poor  excuses  as  these  will  cause  us  to  think  more  kindly  of 
her,  let  us  make  them,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God.  Per- 
haps, brother,  you  and  I  may  stand  in  a  position  to  have 
excuses  made  for  us,  one  day ;  therefore,  we  will  be  char- 
itable. 

My  lord  was  at  church  that  afternoon,  a  very  rare  cir- 
cumstance, for  he  was  mostly  at  his  great  property  in  the 
north,  and  had  lately  been  much  abroad  for  his  health. 
105 


The  Recollections  of 

So  when  Miss  Thornton  and  Mary  joined  the  Vicar  in  the 
main  aisle,  and  the  three  went  forth  into  the  churchyard, 
they  found  the  villagers  drawn  respectfully  back  upon  the 
graves,  and  his  lordship  waiting  in  close  confabulation 
with  farmer  Wreford,  to  receive  the  Vicar  as  he  came  out. 

A  tall,  courtly,  grizzled-looking  man  he  was,  with  clear 
gray  eyes,  and  a  modulated  harmonious  voice.  Well  did 
their  lordships  of  the  upper-house  know  that  voice,  when 
after  a  long  sleepy  debate  it  aroused  them  from  ambrosial 
slumbers,  with  biting  sarcasm,  and  most  disagreeably  told 
truths.  And  most  heartily  did  a  certain  proportion  of 
their  lordships  curse  the  owner  of  that  voice,  for  a  talented, 
eloquent,  meddlesome  innovator.  But  on  all  his  great  es- 
tates he  was  adored  by  the  labourers  and  town's- folk, 
though  hated  by  the  farmers  and  country  'squires  ;  for  he 
was  the  earliest  and  fiercest  of  the  reform  and  free-trade 
warriors. 

He  came  up  to  the  Vicar  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  I 
have  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Thornton,  for  a  most  charming  ser- 
mon, though  having  the  fault  common  to  all  good  things, 
of  being  too  short.  Miss  Thornton,  I  hope  you  are  quite 

well ;  I  saw  Lady  D the  other  day,  and  she  begged 

that  when  I  came  down  here,  I  would  convey  her  kindest 
love  to  you.  I  think  she  mentioned  that  she  was  about  to 
write  to  you." 

"  I  received  a  letter  from  her  ladyship  last  week,"  said 
Miss  Thornton  ;  "  informing  me  that  dear  Lady  Fanny  had 
got  a  son  and  heir." 

"  Happy  boy,"  said  my  lord ;  "  fifty  thousand  a  year, 
and  nothing  to  do  for  it,  unless  he  likes.  Besides  a  mi- 
nority of  at  least  ten  years ;  for  L is  getting  very  shaky. 

Miss  Thornton,  and  is  still  devotedly  given  to  stewed 
mushrooms.  Nay,  my  dear  lady,  don't  look  distressed,  she 
will  make  a  noble  young  dowager.  This  must  be  your 
daughter,  Mr.  Thornton — pray  introduce  me." 

Mary  was  introduced,  and  his  Lordship  addressed  a  few 
kindly  commonplaces  to  her,  to  which  she  replied  with 
106 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

graceful  modesty.  Then  he  demanded  of  the  Vicar, 
"  where  is  Dr.  Mulhaus,  has  he  been  at  church  this  after- 
noon ?  " 

At  that  moment  the  Doctor,  attended  by  the  old  clerk, 
was  head  and  shoulders  into  the  old  oak  chest  that  con- 
tained the  parish  registers,  looking  for  the  book  of  burials 
for  sixteen  hundred  and  something.  Not  being  able  to 
get  to  the  bottom,  he  got  bodily  in,  as  into  a  bath,  and 
after  several  dives  succeeded  in  fishing  it  up  from  the  bot- 
tom, and  standing  there  absorbed  in  a  few  minutes,  up  to 
his  middle  in  dusty  parchments  and  angry  moths,  he  got 
his  finger  on  a  particular  date,  and  dashed  out  of  church, 
book  in  hand,  and  hatless,  crying,  "  Vicar,  Vicar ! "  just 
as  the  villagers  had  cleared  off,  and  my  lord  was  moving 
away  with  the  Vicar  to  the  parsonage,  to  take  dinner. 

When  his  Lordship  saw  the  wild  dusty  figure  come  run- 
ning out  of  the  church  porch  with  the  parish  register  in 
his  hand,  and  no  hat  on  his  head,  he  understood  the  po- 
sition immediately.  He  sat  down  on  a  tombstone,  and 
laughed  till  he  could  laugh  no  longer. 

"  No  need  to  tell  me,"  he  said  through  his  laughter, 
"  that  he  is  unchanged ;  just  as  mad  and  energetic  as  ever, 
at  whatever  he  takes  in  hand,  whether  getting  together 
impossible  ministries,  or  searching  the  parish-register  of 
an  English  village.  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  old  friend  ?  " 

"  And  how  do  you  do,  old  democrat  ?  "  answered  the 
Doctor.  "  Politics  seem  to  agree  with  you  ;  I  believe  you 
would  die  without  vexation — just  excuse  me  a  moment. 
Look  you  here,  you  infidel,"  to  the  Vicar,  showing  him 
the  register  ;  "  there's  his  name  plain — '  Burrows,  Curate 
of  this  parish,  1698.' — Now  what  do  you  say?  " 

The  Vicar  acquiesced  with  a  sleepy  laugh,  and  proposed 
moving  homewards.  Miss  Thornton  hoped  that  the  Doc- 
tor would  join  them  at  dinner  as  usual.  The  Doctor  said 
of  course,  and  went  back  to  fetch  his  hat,  my  Lord  follow- 
ing him  into  the  church.  When  the  others  had  gone  down 
the  hill,  and  were  waiting  for  the  nobleman  and  the  Doc- 
107 


The  Recollections  of 

tor  at  the  gate,  Miss  Thornton  watched  the  two  coming 
down  the  hill.  My  Lord  stopped  the  Doctor,  and  eagerly 
demonstrated  something  to  him  with  his  forefinger  on  the 
palm  of  his  hand  ;  but  the  Doctor  only  shook  his  head, 
and  then  the  pair  moved  on. 

My  Lord  made  himself  thoroughly  agreeable  at  dinner, 
as  did  also  the  Doctor.  Mary  was  surprised  too  at  the 
calm  highbred  bearing  of  her  aunt,  the  way  she  under- 
stood and  spoke  of  every  subject  of  conversation,  and  the 
deference  with  which  they  listened  to  her.  It  was  a  side 
of  her  aunt's  character  she  had  never  seen  before,  and  she 
felt  it  hard  to  believe  that  that  intellectual  dignified  lady, 
referred  to  on  all  subjects,  was  the  old  maid  she  had  been 
used  to  laugh  at,  and  began  to  feel  that  she  was  in  an  at- 
mosphere far  above  what  she  was  accustomed  to. 

"  All  this  is  above  me,"  she  said  to  herself ;  "  let  them 
live  in  this  sphere  who  are  accustomed  to  it,  I  have  chosen 
wiser,  out  of  the  rank  in  which  I  have  been  brought  up. 
I  would  sooner  be  George  Hawker's  wife  than  sit  there, 
crushed  and  bored  by  their  high-flown  talk." 

Soon  after  dinner  she  retired  with  her  aunt ;  they  did 
not  talk  much  when  they  were  alone,  so  Mary  soon  re- 
tired to  her  room,  and  having  made  a  few  very  slight 
preparations,  sat  down  at  the  window.  The  time  was 
soon  to  come,  but  it  was  very  cold  ;  the  maids  were  out, 
as  they  always  were  on  Sunday  evening,  and  there  was  a 
fire  in  the  kitchen, — she  would  go  and  sit  there — so  down 
she  went. 

She  wished  to  be  alone,  so  when  she  saw  a  candle  burn- 
ing in  the  kitchen  she  was  disappointed,  but  went  in 
nevertheless.  My  Lord's  groom,  who  had  been  sitting 
before  the  fire,  rose  up  and  saluted  her.  A  handsome 
young  man,  rather  square  and  prominent  about  the  jaws, 
but  nevertheless  foolish  and  amiable  looking.  The  sort 
of  man  one  would  suppose,  who,  if  his  lord  were  to  tell 
him  to  jump  into  the  pit  Tophet,  would  pursue  one  of  two 
courses,  either  jump  in  himself,  without  further  to  do,  or 
1 08 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

throw  his  own  brother  in  with  profuse  apologies.  From 
the  top  of  his  sleek  round  head  to  the  sole  of  his  perfect 
top-boot,  the  model  and  living  exponent  of  what  a  ser- 
vant should  be — fit  to  be  put  into  a  case  and  ticketed  as 
such. 

He  saluted  her  as  she  came  in,  and  drawing  a  letter 
from  his  hat,  put  it  into  her  astonished  hands.  "  My 
orders  were,  Miss,  that  I  was  not  to  give  it  to  you  unless 
I  saw  you  personally." 

She  thanked  him  and  withdrew  to  read  it  It  was  a 
scrawl  from  George  Hawker,  the  first  letter  she  had  ever 
received  from  him,  and  ran  as  follows  : — 

"Mv  HEART'S  DARLING, 

"  I  SHALL  be  in  the  croft  to-night,  according  to  prom- 
ise, ready  to  make  you  the  happiest  woman  in  England, 
so  I  know  you  won't  fail.  My  Lord  fe  coming  to  church 
this  afternoon,  and  will  be  sure  to  dine  with  you.  So  I 
send  this  present  by  his  groom,  Sam  ;  a  good  young  chap, 
which  I  have  known  since  he  was  so  high,  and  like  well, 
only  that  he  is  soft,  which  is  not  to  his  disadvantage. 

"  G.  H." 

She  was  standing  under  the  lamp  reading  this  when  she 
heard  the  dining-room  door  open,  and  the  men  coming 
out  from  their  wine.  She  slipped  into  the  room  opposite, 
and  stood  listening  in  the  dark.  She  could  see  them  as 
they  came  out.  There  was  my  Lord  and  the  Doctor 
first,  and  behind  came  Major  Buckley,  who  had  dropped 
in,  as  his  custom  was,  on  Sunday  evening,  and  who  must 
have  arrived  while  she  was  upstairs.  As  they  passed  the 
door,  inside  which  she  stood,  his  Lordship  turned  round 
and  said : — 

"  I  tell  you  what,  my  dear  Major,  if  that  old  Hawker 

was  a  tenant  of  mine,  I'd  take  away  his  lease,  and,  if  I 

could,  force  him  to  leave  the  parish.     One  man  of  that 

kind  docs  incalculable  harm  in  a  village,  by  lowering  the 

109 


The  Recollections  of 

tone  of  the  morality  of  the  place.  That's  the  use  of  a 
great  landlord  if  he  does  his  duty.  He  can  punish  evil- 
doers whom  the  law  does  not  reach." 

"  Don't  say  anything  more  about  him,"  said  the  Doctor 
in  a  low  voice.  "  It's  a  tender  subject  in  this  house." 

"  It  is,  eh  !  "  said  my  Lord  ;  "  thanks  for  the  hint,  good 
— bah  ! — Mulhaus.  Let  us  go  up  and  have  half  an  hour 
with  Miss  Thornton  before  I  go  !  " 

They  went  up,  and  then  her  father  followed.  He 
seemed  flushed,  and  she  thought  he  must  have  been 
drinking  too  much  wine.  After  they  were  in  the  drawing- 
room,  she  crept  upstairs  and  listened.  They  were  all 
talking  except  her  father.  It  was  half-past  nine,  and  she 
wished  they  would  go.  So  she  went  into  her  bedroom 
and  waited.  The  maids  had  come  home,  and  she  heard 
them  talking  to  the  groom  in  the  kitchen.  At  ten  o'clock 
the  bell  was  rung,  and  my  Lord's  horse  ordered.  Soon  he 
went,  and  not  long  afterwards  the  Major  and  the  Doctor 
followed.  Then  she  saw  Miss  Thornton  go  to  her  room, 
and  her  father  walk  slowly  to  his ;  and  all  was  still 
throughout  the  house. 

She  took  her  hat  and  shawl  and  slipped  downstairs 
shoeless  into  her  father's  study.  She  laid  a  note  on  his 
chimney-piece,  which  she  had  written  in  the  morning,  and 
opening  the  back-door  fled  swiftly  forth,  not  daring  to 
look  behind  her.  Quickly,  under  the  blinking  stars,  under 
the  blooming  apple-trees,  out  to  the  croft-gate,  and  there 
was  George  waiting  impatiently  for  her,  according  to 
promise. 

"  I  began  to  fear  you  were  not  coming,  my  dear.  Quick, 
jump  !  " 

She  scrambled  over  the  gate,  and  jumped  into  his  arms ; 
he  hurried  her  down  the  lane  about  a  hundred  yards,  and 
then  became  aware  of  a  dark  object  in  the  middle  of  the 
road. 

"  That's  my  gig,  my  dear.  Once  in  that,  and  we  are 
soon  in  Exeter.  All  right,  Bob  ?  " 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  All  right '  "  replied  a  strange  voice  in  the  dark,  and 
she  was  lifted  into  the  gig  quickly ;  in  another  moment 
George  was  beside  her,  and  they  were  flying  through  the 
dark  steep  lanes  at  a  dangerous  speed. 

The  horse  was  a  noble  beast — the  finest  in  the  country 
side — and,  like  his  driver,  knew  every  stock  and  stone  on 
the  road ;  so  that  ere  poor  Mary  had  recovered  her  first 
flurry,  they  had  crossed  the  red  ford,  and  were  four  miles 
on  the  road  towards  the  capital,  and  began  to  feel  a  little 
more  cheerful,  for  she  had  been  crying  bitterly. 

"  Don't  give  way,  Polly,"  said  George. 

"  No  fear  of  my  giving  way  now,  George.  If  I  had 
been  going  to  do  that,  I'd  have  done  it  before.  Now  tell 
us  what  you  are  going  to  do  ?  I  have  left  everything  to 
you." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  straight  on  to  London,  my 
dear,"  he  replied,  "  and  get  married  by  licence.  We  could 
never  stop  in  Exeter ;  and  if  you  feel  up  to  it,  I  should 
like  to  get  off  by  early  coach  to-morrow  morning.  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

"  By  all  means  !     Shall  we  be  there  in  time  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  two  hours  before  the  coach  starts." 

"  Have  you  money  enough,  George  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Plenty !  "  he  replied. 

"  If  you  go  short,  you  must  come  to  me,  you  know," 
she  said. 

They  rattled  through  the  broad  streets  of  a  small  coun- 
try town  just  as  the  moon  rose.  The  noble  minster, 
which  had  for  many  years  been  used  as  the  parish  church, 
slept  quietly  among  the  yews  and  gravestones ,  all  the 
town  was  still ;  only  they  two  were  awake,  flying,  she 
thought,  from  the  fellowship  of  all  quiet  men.  Was  her 
father  asleep  now?  she  wondered.  What  would  Miss 
Thornton  say  in  the  morning  ?  and  many  other  things 
she  was  asking  herself,  when  she  was  interrupted  by 
George  saying,  "  Only  eight  miles  to  Exeter  ;  we  shall  be 
in  by  daybreak." 


The  Recollections  of 

So  they  left  Crediton  Minster  behind  them,  and  rolled 
away  along  the  broad  road  by  the  river,  beneath  the 
whispering  poplars. 

****** 

As  Miss  Thornton  was  dressing  herself  next  morning 
she  heard  the  Vicar  go  down  into  his  study  as  usual. 
She  congratulated  herself  that  he  was  better,  from  being 
up  thus  early,  but  determined,  nevertheless,  that  he 
should  see  a  doctor  that  day,  who  might  meet  and  consult 
with  Dr.  Mulhaus. 

Then  she  wondered  why  Mary  had  not  been  in.  She 
generally  came  into  her  aunt's  room  to  ho.ok-and-eye  her, 
as  she  called  it ;  but  not  having  come  this  morning,  Miss 
Thornton  determined  to  go  to  her,  and  accordingly  went 
and  rapped  at  her  door. 

No  answer.  "  Could  the  girl  have  been  fool  enough  ?  " 
thought  Miss  Thornton.  "  Nonsense  !  no  !  She  must 
be  asleep ! " 

She  opened  the  door  and  went  in.  Everything  tidy. 
The  bed  had  not  been  slept  in.  Miss  Thornton  had  been 
in  at  an  elopement,  and  a  famous  one,  before  ;  so  she 
knew  the  symptoms  in  a  moment.  Well  she  remembered 
the  dreadful  morning  when  Lady  Kate  went  off  with 
Captain  Brentwood,  of  the  Artillery.  Well  she  remem- 
bered the  Countess  going  into  hysterics.  But  this  was 
worse  than  that ;  this  touched  her  nearer  home. 

"  Oh,  you  naughty  girl !  Oh  you  wicked,  ungrateful 
girl ;  to  go  and  do  such  a  thing  at  a  time  like  this,  when 
I've  been  watching  the  paralysis  creeping  over  him  day 
by  day  !  How  shall  I  tell  him  ?  How  shall  I  ever  tell 
him  ?  He  will  have  a  stroke  as  sure  as  fate.  He  was 
going  to  have  one  without  this.  I  dare  not  tell  him  till 
breakfast,  and  yet  I  ought  to  tell  him  at  once.  I  was 
brought  into  the  world  to  be  driven  mad  by  girls.  Oh 
dear,  I  wish  they  were  all  boys,  and  we  might  send  them 
to  Eton  and  wash  our  hands  of  them.  Well,  I  must 
leave  crying,  and  prepare  for  telling  him." 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

She  went  into  his  study,  and  at  first  could  not  see  him ; 
but  he  was  there — a  heap  of  black  clothes  lay  on  the 
hearthrug,  and  Miss  Thornton  running  up,  saw  that  it 
was  her  brother,  speechless,  senseless,  clasping  a  letter  in 
his  hand. 

She  saw  that  the  worst  was  come,  and  nerved  herself 
for  work,  like  a  valiant  soul  as  she  was.  She  got  him 
carried  to  his  bed  by  the  two  sturdy  maids,  and  sent  an 
express  for  Dr.  Mulhaus,  and  another  for  the  professional 
surgeon.  Then  she  took  from  her  pocket  the  letter  which 
she  had  found  in  the  poor  Vicar's  hand,  and,  going  to  the 
window,  read  as  follows : 

"  When  you  get  this,  father,  I  shall  be  many  miles 
away.  I  have  started  to  London  with  George  Hawker, 
and  God  only  knows  whether  you  will  see  me  again.  Try 
to  forgive  me,  father,  and  if  not,  forget  that  you  ever  had 
a  daughter  who  was  only  born  to  give  you  trouble. — Your 
erring  but  affectionate  Mary." 

It  will  be  seen  by  the  reader  that  this  unlucky  letter, 
written  in  agitation  and  hurry,  contained  no  allusion 
whatever  to  marriage,  but  rather  left  one  to  infer  that  she 
was  gone  with  Hawker  as  his  mistress.  So  the  Vicar 
read  it  again  and  again,  each  time  more  mistily,  till  sense 
and  feeling  departed,  and  he  lay  before  his  hearth  a  hope- 
less paralytic. 

At  that  moment  Mary,  beside  George,  was  rolling 
through  the  fresh  morning  air,  up  the  beautiful  Exe  val- 
ley. Her  fears  were  gone  with  daylight  and  sunshine, 
and  as  he  put  his  arm  about  her  waist,  she  said, 

"  I  am  glad  we  came  outside." 

"  Are  you  quite  happy  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite  happy !  "— 


The  Recollections  of 


Chapter  XII 

In  which  a  new  Face  is  introduced,  by  Means  of  a  Rat  and  a 
Terrier 

FOR  the  first  four  weeks  that  the  Vicar  lay  paralyzed, 
the  neighbouring  clergymen  had  done  his  duty  ;  but  now 
arose  a  new  difficulty  at  Drumston.  Who  was  to  do  the 
duty  while  the  poor  Vicar  lay  there  on  his  back  speech- 
less ? 

"  How,"  asked  Miss  Thornton  of  Tom  Troubridge, 
"  are  we  to  make  head  against  the  dissenters  now  ?  Let 
the  duty  lapse  but  one  single  week,  my  dear  friend,  and 
you  will  see  the  chapels  overflowing  once  more.  My  broth- 
er has  always  had  a  hard  fight  to  keep  them  to  church, 
for  they  have  a  natural  tendency  to  dissent  here.  And  a 
great  number  don't  care  what  the  denominations  are,  so 
long  as  there  is  noise  enough." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,"  answered  Tom,  "  old  Mark 
Hook's  place  of  worship  should  pay  best.  I'd  back  them 
against  Bedlam  any  day." 

"  They  certainly  make  the  loudest  noise  at  a  Revival," 
said  Miss  Thornton.  "  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  " 

"  That  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  my  dearest  auntie," 
said  Troubridge,  "  but  I  am  here,  and  my  horse  too,  ready 
to  go  any  amount  of  errands." 

"  I  see  no  way,"  said  Miss  Thornton,  "  but  to  write  to 
the  Bishop." 

"  And  I  see  no  way  else,"  said  Tom,  "  unless  you  like  to 
dress  me  up  as  a  parson,  and  see  if  I  would  do." 

Miss  Thornton  wrote  to  the  Bishop,  with  whom  she 
had  some  acquaintance,  and  told  him  how  her  brother 
had  been  struck  down  with  paralysis,  and  that  the  parish 
was  unprovided  for :  that  if  he  would  send  any  gentleman 
he  approved  of,  she  would  gladly  receive  him  at  Drums- 
ton. 

114 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Armed  with  this  letter,  Tom  found  himself,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  in  an  episcopal  palace.  A  sleek  servant  in 
black  opened  the  door  with  cat-like  tread,  and  admitted 
him  into  a  dark,  warm  hall ;  and  on  Tom's  saying,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  as  if  he  w*as  in  church,  that  he  had 
brought  a  note  of  importance,  and  would  wait  for  an  an- 
swer, the  man  glided  away,  and  disappeared  through  a 
spring-door,  which  swung  to  behind  him.  Tom  thought 
it  would  have  banged,  but  it  didn't.  Bishops'  doors  never 
bang. 

Tom  had  a  great  awe  for  your  peers  spiritual.  He 
could  get  on  well  enough  with  a  peer  temporal,  partic- 
ularly if  that  proud  aristocrat  happened  to  be  in  want  of  a 
horse ;  but  a  bishop  was  quite  another  matter. 

So  he  sat  rather  uncomfortable  in  the  dark,  warm  hall, 
listening  to  such  dull  sounds  as  could  be  heard  in  the 
gloomy  mansion.  A  broad  oak  staircase  led  up  from  the 
hall  into  lighter  regions,  and  there  stood,  on  a  landing 
above,  a  lean,  wheezy  old  clock,  all  over  brass  knobs, 
which,  as  he  looked  on  it,  choked,  and  sneezed  four. 

But  now  there  was  a  new  sound  in  the  house.  An  in- 
decent, secular  sound.  A  door  near  the  top  of  the  house 
was  burst  violently  open,  and  there  was  a  scuffle.  A  loud 
voice  shouted  twice  unmistakably  and  distinctly,  "  So-o, 
good  bitch !  "  And  then  the  astounded  Tom  heard  the 
worrying  of  a  terrier,  and  the  squeak  of  a  dying  rat. 
There  was  no  mistake  about  it ;  he  heard  the  bones  crack. 
Then  he  made  out  that  a  dog  was  induced  to  go  into  a 
room  on  false  pretences,  and  deftly  shut  up  there,  and  then 
he  heard  a  heavy  step  descending  the  stairs  towards  him. 
But,  before  there  was  time  for  the  perpetrator  of  these 
sacrileges  to  come  in  sight,  a  side  door  opened,  and  the 
Bishop  himself  came  forth  with  a  letter  in  his  hand  (a 
mild,  clever,  gentlemanly-looking  man  he  was  too,  Tom 
remarked)  and  said, — 

"  Pray  is  there  not  a  messenger  from  Drumston  here  ?  " 
Tom  replied  that  he  had  brought  a  letter  from  his  cousin 

"5 


The  Recollections  of 

the  Vicar.  He  had  rather  expected  to  hear  it  demanded, 
"  Where  is  the  audacious  man  who  has  dared  to  penetrate 
these  sacred  shades  ?  "  and  was  agreeably  relieved  to  find 
that  the  Bishop  wasn't  angry  with  him. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  the  Bishop ;  "  I  beg  a  thousand  par- 
dons for  keeping  you  in  the  hall ;  pray  walk  into  my 
study." 

So  in  he  went  and  sat  down.     The  Bishop  resumed, — 

"  You  are  Mr.  Thornton's  cousin,  sir  ?  " 

Tom  bowed.  "  I  am  about  the  nearest  relation  he  has 
besides  his  sister,  my  lord." 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  Bishop.  "  I  have  written  to  Miss 
Thornton  to  say  that  there  is  a  gentleman,  a  relation  of 
my  own,  now  living  in  the  house  with  me,  who  will  un- 
dertake Mr.  Thornton's  duties,  and  I  dare  say,  also,  with- 
out remuneration.  He  has  nothing  to  do  at  present. — Oh, 
here  is  the  gentleman  I  spoke  of  !  " 

Here  was  the  gentleman  he  spoke  of,  holding  a  dead  rat 
by  the  tail,  and  crying  out, — 

"  Look  here,  uncle  ;  what  did  I  tell  you  ?  I  might  have 
been  devoured  alive,  had  it  not  been  for  my  faithful  Fly, 
your  enemy." 

He  was  about  six  feet  or  nearly  so  in  height,  with  a 
highly  intellectual  though  not  a  handsome  face.  His  brown 
hair,  carelessly  brushed,  fell  over  a  forehead  both  broad 
and  lofty,  beneath  which  shone  a  pair  of  bold,  clear  grey 
eyes.  The  moment  Troubridge  saw  him  he  set  him  down 
in  his  own  mind  as  a  "  goer,"  by  which  he  meant  a  man 
who  had  go,  or  energy,  in  him.  A  man,  he  thought,  who 
was  thrown  away  as  a  parson. 

The  Bishop,  ringing  the  bell,  began  again,  "  This  is  my 
nephew,  Mr.  Frank  Maberly." 

The  sleek  servant  entered. 

"  My  dear  Frank,  pray  give  that  rat  to  Sanders,  and  let 
him  take  it  away.  I  don't  like  such  things  in  the  study." 

"  I  only  brought  it  to  convince  you,  uncle,"  said   the 
other.     "  Here  you  are,  Sanders  !  " 
116 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

But  Sanders  would  have  as  soon  shaken  hands  with  the 
Pope.  He  rather  thought  the  rat  was  alive ;  and  taking 
the  tongs,  he  received  the  beast  at  a  safe  distance,  while 
Tom  saw  a  smile  of  contempt  pass  over  the  young  curate's 
features. 

"  You'd  make  a  good  missionary,  Sanders,"  said  he ; 
and  turning  to  Troubridge,  continued,  "  Pray  excuse  this 
interlude,  sir.  You  don't  look  as  if  you  would  refuse  to 
shake  me  by  my  ratty  hand." 

Tom  thought  he  would  sooner  shake  hands  with  him 
than  fight  him,  and  was  so  won  by  Maberly's  manner, 
that  he  was  just  going  to  say  so,  when  he  recollected  the 
presence  he  was  in,  and  blushed  scarlet. 

"  My  dear  Frank,"  resumed  his  uncle,  "  Mr.  Thornton, 
of  Drumston,  is  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  I  want  you  to  go 
over  and  do  his  duties  for  him  till  he  is  better." 

"  Most  certainly,  my  dear  lord  ;  and  when  shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  Say  to-morrow  ;  will  that  suit  your  household,  sir  ?  " 
said  the  Bishop. 

Tom  replied,  "  Yes,  certainly,"  and  took  his  leave.  Then 
the  Bishop,  turning  to  Frank,  said, — 

"  The  living  of  Drumston,  nephew,  is  in  my  gift ;  and  if 
Mr.  Thornton  does  not  recover,  as  is  very  possible,  I  shall 
give  it  to  you.  I  wish  you,  therefore,  to  go  to  Drumston, 
and  become  acquainted  with  your  future  parishioners.  You 
will  find  Miss  Thornton  a  most  charming  old  lady." 

Frank  Maberly  was  the  second  son  of  a  country  gentle- 
man of  good  property,  and  was  a  very  remarkable  char- 
acter. His  uncle  had  always  said  of  him,  that  whatever  he 
chose  to  take  up  he  would  be  first  in  ;  and  his  uncle  was 
right.  At  Eton  he  was  not  only  the  best  cricketer  and 
runner,  but  decidedly  the  best  scholar  of  his  time.  At 
Cambridge,  for  the  first  year,  he  was  probably  the  noisiest 
man  in  his  college,  though  he  never  lived  what  is  called 
"  hard ;  "  but  in  the  second  year  he  took  up  his  books 
once  more,  and  came  forth  third  wrangler  and  first  class, 
and  the  second  day  after  the  class-list  came  out,  made  a 
117 


The  Recollections  of 

very  long  score  in  the  match  with  Oxford.  Few  men  were 
more  popular,  though  the  fast  men  used  to  call  him  crotch- 
ety ;  and  on  some  subjects,  indeed,  he  was  very  impatient 
of  contradiction.  And  most  of  his  friends  were  a  little 
disappointed  when  they  heard  of  his  intention  of  going 
into  the  Church.  His  father  went  so  far  as  to  say, — 

"  My  dear  Frank,  I  always  thought  you  would  have 
been  a  lawyer." 

"  I'd  sooner  be  a well,  never  mind  what." 

"  But  you  might  have  gone  into  the  army,  Frank,"  said 
his  father. 

"  I  am  going  into  the  army,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  into  the' 
army  of  Christ." 

Old  Mr.  Maberly  was  at  first  shocked  by  this  last  ex- 
pression from  a  son  who  rarely  or  never  talked  on  relig- 
ious matters,  and  told  his  wife  so  that  night. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  since  I've  been  thinking  of  it,  I'm 
sure  Frank  meant  neither  blagtte  nor  irreverence.  He  is 
in  earnest.  I  never  knew  him  tell  a  lie ;  and  since  he  was 
six  years  old  he  has  known  how  to  call  a  spade  a  spade." 

"  He'll  make  a  good  parson,"  said  the  mother. 

"  He'll  be  first  in  that,  as  he  is  in  everything  else,"  said 
the  father. 

"  But  he'll  never  be  a  bishop,"  said  Mrs.  Maberly. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  husband,  indignantly. 

"  Because,  as  you  say  yourself,  husband,  he  will  call  a 
spade  a  spade." 

"  Bah !  you  are  a  radical,"  said  the  father.  "  Go  to 
sleep." 

At  the  time  of  John  Thornton's  illness,  he  had  been  or- 
dained about  a  year  and  a  half.  He  had  got  a  title  for 
orders,  as  a  curate,  in  a  remote  part  of  Devon,  but  had  left 
it  in  consequence  of  a  violent  disagreement  with  his  rector, 
in  which  he  had  been  most  fully  borne  out  by  his  uncle, 
who,  by  the  bye,  was  not  the  sort  of  man  who  would  have 
supported  his  own  brother,  had  he  been  in  the  wrong. 
Since  then  Frank  Maberly  had  been  staying  with  his 
118 


GeofFry  Hamlyn 

uncle,  and,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  working  the  slums  "  at 
Exeter. 

Miss  Thornton  sat  in  the  drawing-room  at  Drumston 
the  day  after  Tom's  visit  to  the  Bishop,  waiting  dinner  for 
the  new  Curate.  Tom  and  she  had  been  wondering  how 
he  would  come.  Miss  Thornton  said,  probably  in  the 
Bishop's  carriage  ;  but  Tom  was  inclined  to  think  he 
would  ride  over.  The  dinner  time  was  past  some  ten 
minutes,  when  they  saw  a  man  in  black  put  his  hand  on 
the  garden-gate,  vault  over,  and  run  breathless  up  to  the 
hall-door.  Tom  had  recognised  him  and  dashed  out  to 
receive  him,  but  ere  he  had  time  to  say  "  good  day  "  even, 
the  new-comer  pulled  out  his  watch,  and  having  looked  at 
it,  said  in  a  tone  of  vexation  : — 

"  Twenty-one  minutes,  as  near  as  possible  ;  nay,  a  little 
over.  By  Jove !  how  pursy  a  fellow  gets  mewed  up  in 
town !  How  far  do  you  call  it,  now,  from  the  Buller 
Arms?  " 

"  It  is  close  upon  four  miles,"  said  Tom,  highly  amused. 

"  So  they  told  me,"  replied  Frank  Maberly.  "  I  left  my 
portmanteau  there,  and  the  landlord -fellow  had  the  au- 
dacity to  say  in  conversation  that  I  couldn't  run  the  four 
miles  in  twenty  minutes.  It's  lucky  a  parson  can't  bet,  or 
I  should  have  lost  my  money.  But  the  last  mile  is  very 
much  up-hill,  as  you  must  allow." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,"  said  Tom  ;  "  there  isn't  a  man 
in  this  parish  would  go  that  four  mile  under  twenty  min- 
utes. If  any  man  could,  I  ought  to  know  of  it." 

Miss  Thornton  had  listened  to  this  conversation  with 
wonder  not  unmixed  with  amusement.  At  first  she  had 
concluded  that  the  Bishop's  carriage  was  upset,  and  that 
Frank  was  the  breathless  messenger  sent  forward  to 
chronicle  the  mishap.  But  her  tact  soon  showed  the  sort 
of  person  she  had  to  deal  with,  for  she  was  not  unac- 
quainted with  the  performances  of  public  schoolboys. 
She  laughed  when  she  called  to  mind  the  bouleversement 
that  used  to  take  place  when  Lord  Charles  and  Lord  Fred- 

IIQ 


The  Recollections  of 

erick  came  home  from  Harrow,  and  invaded  her  quiet 
school-room.  So  she  advanced  into  the  passage  to  meet 
the  new-comer  with  one  of  her  pleasantest  smiles. 

"  I  must  claim  an  old  woman's  privilege  of  introducing 
myself,  Mr.  Maberly,"  she  said.  "  Your  uncle  was  tutor 

to  the  B s,  when  I  was  governess  to  the  D s ;  so 

we  are  old  acquaintances." 

"  Can  you  forgive  me,  Miss  Thornton  ?  "  he  said,  "  for 
running  up  to  the  house  in  this  lunatic  sort  of  way  ?  I  am 
still  half  a  schoolboy,  you  know.  What  an  old  jewel  she 
is ! "  he  added  to  himself. 

Tom  said  :  "  May  I  show  you  your  room,  Mr.  Maberly  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  do,"  said  Frank  ;  and  added,  "  Get  out, 
Fly ;  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

But  Miss  Thornton  interceded  for  the  dog,  a  beautiful 
little  black  and  tan  terrier,  whose  points  Tom  was  examin- 
ing with  profound  admiration. 

"  That's  a  brave  little  thing,  Mr.  Maberly,"  said  he,  as 
he  showed  him  to  his  room.  "  I  should  like  to  put  in  my 
name  for  a  pup." 

They  stood  face  to  face  in  the  bed-room  as  he  said  this, 
and  Frank,  not  answering  him,  said  abruptly  : — 

"  By  Jove !  what  a  splendid  man  you  are  !  What  do 
you  weigh,  now  ?  " 

"  Close  upon  eighteen  stone,  just  now,  I  should  think  ;  " 
said  Tom. 

"  Ah,  but  you  are  carrying  a  little  flesh,"  said  Frank. 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Tom.  •  "  I've  been  to  London  for  a 
fortnight." 

"  That  accounts  for  it,"  said  Frank.  "  Many  dissenters 
in  this  parish  ?  " 

"  A  sight  of  all  sorts,"  said  Tom.  "  They  want  attract- 
ing to  church  here  ;  they  don't  go  naturally,  as  they  do  in 
some  parts." 

"  I  see,"  said  Frank  ;  "  I  suppose  they'll  come  next  Sun- 
day though,  to  see  the  new  parson  ;  my  best  plan  will  be 
to  give  them  a  stinger,  "  so  that  they'll  come  again." 


Geoflry  Hamlyn 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Tom,  "it's  got  about  that  there'll 
be  no  service  next  Sunday,  so  they'll  make  an  excuse  for 
going  to  Meeting.  Our  best  plan  will  be,  for  you  and  I  to 
go  about  and  let  them  know  that  there's  a  new  minister. 
Then  you'll  get  them  together,  and  after  that  I  leave  it  to 
you  to  keep  them.  Shall  we  go  down  to  dinner  ?  " 

They  came  together  going  out  of  the  door,  and  Frank 
turned  and  said  : — 

"  Will  you  shake  hands  with  me  ?  I  think  we  shall  suit 
one  another." 

"  Aye !  that  we  shall,"  said  Tom,  heartily ;  "  you're  a 
man's  parson  ;  that's  about  what  you  are.  But,"  he  added, 
seriously,  "  you  wouldn't  do  among  the  old  women,  you 
know." 

At  dinner,  Miss  Thornton  said,  "  I  hope,  Mr.  Maberly, 
you  are  none  the  worse  after  your  run  ?  Are  you  not 
afraid  of  such  violent  exercise  bringing  on  palpitation  of 
the  heart  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  my  dear  madam,"  he  said.  "  Let  me  make  my 
defence  for  what,  otherwise,  you  might  consider  mere  boy- 
ish folly.  I  am  passionately  fond  of  athletic  sports  of  all 
kinds,  and  indulge  in  them  as  a  pleasure.  No  real  man  is 
without  some  sort  of  pleasure,  more  or  less  harmless. 
Nay,  even  your  fanatic  is  a  man  who  makes  a  pleasure 
and  an  excitement  of  religion.  My  pleasures  are  very 
harmless  ;  what  can  be  more  harmless  than  keeping  this 
shell  of  ours  in  the  highest  state  of  capacity  for  noble 
deeds  ?  I  know,"  he  said,  turning  to  Tom,  "  what  the 
great  temptation  is  that  such  men  as  you  or  I  have  to  con- 
tend against.  It  is  '  the  pride  of  life ; '  but  if  we  know 
that  and  fight  against  it,  how  can  it  prevail  against  us  ? 
It  is  easier  conquered  than  the  lust  of  the  flesh,  or  the  lust 
of  the  eye,  though  some  will  tell  you  that  I  can't  construe 
my  Greek  Testament,  and  that  the  '  pride  of  life '  means 
something  very  different.  I  hold  my  opinion,  however, 
in  spite  of  them.  Then,  again,  although  I  have  taken  a 
good  degree  (not  so  good  as  I  might,  though),  I  consider 


The  Recollections  of 

that  I  have  only  just  begun  to  study.  Consequently,  I 
read  hard  still,  and  shall  continue  to  do  so  the  next  twenty 
years,  please  God.  I  find  my  head  the  clearer,  and  my 
intellect  more  powerful  in  consequence  of  the  good  diges- 
tion produced  by  exercise ;  so  I  mean  to  use  it  till  I  get 
too  fat,  which  will  be  a  long  while  first." 

"  Ain't  you  afraid/'  said  Tom,  laughing,  "  of  offending 
some  of  your  weaker  brothers'  consciences,  by  running 
four  miles,  because  a  publican  said  you  couldn't  ?  " 

"  Disputing  with  a  publican  might  be  an  error  of  judg- 
ment," said  Frank.  "  Bah  !  might  be — it  was  ;  but  with 
regard  to  running  four  miles — no.  It  is  natural  and  right 
that  a  man  at  five-and-twenty  should  be  both  able  and 
willing  to  run  four  miles,  a  parson  above  all  others,  as  a 
protest  against  effeminacy.  With  regard  to  consciences, 
those  very  tender-conscienced  men  oughtn't  to  want  a 
parson  at  all." 

Miss  Thornton  had  barely  left  the  room,  to  go  up  to  the 
Vicar,  leaving  Tom  and  Frank  Maberly  over  their  wine, 
when  the  hall-door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  well-known 
voice  of  the  Doctor  was  heard  exclaiming  in  angry  tones  : — 

"  If !  sir,  if !  always  at  if's.  '  If  Bliicher  had  destroyed 
the  bridge,'  say  you,  as  if  he  ever  meant  to  be  such  a 
Vandal.  And  if  he  had  meant  to  do  it,  do  you  think  that 
fifty  Wellesleys  in  one  would  have  stayed  him  ?  No,  sir ; 
and  if  he  had  destroyed  every  bridge  on  the  Seine,  sir,  he 
would  have  done  better  than  to  be  overruled  by  the  counsels 
of  Wellington  (glory  go  with  him,  however  !  He  was  a 
good  man).  And  why,  forsooth? — because  the  English 
bore  the  brunt  at  Waterloo,  in  consequence  of  the  Prus- 
sians being  delayed  by  muddy  roads." 

"  And  Ligny,"  said  the  laughing  voice  of  Major  Buckley. 
"  Oh,  Doctor,  dear !  I  like  to  make  you  angry,  because 
then  your  logic  is  so  very  outrageous.  You  are  like  the 
man  who  pleaded  not  guilty  of  murder :  first,  because  he 
hadn't  done  it ;  secondly,  that  he  was  drunk  when  he  did 
it ;  and  thirdly,  that  it  was  a  case  of  mistaken  identity." 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  laughed  the  Doctor,  merrily,  recovering  his 
good  humour  in  a  moment.  "  That's  an  Irish  story  for  a 
thousand  pounds.  There's  nothing  English  about  that. 
Ha  !  ha !  " 

They  were  presented  to  Frank  as  the  new  Curate. 
The  Doctor,  after  a  courteous  salutation,  put  on  his  spec- 
tacles, and  examined  him  carefully.  Frank  looked  at  him 
all  the  time  with  a  quiet  smile,  and  in  the  end  the  Doctor 
said — 

"  Allow  me  the  privilege  of  shaking  hands  with  you, 
sir.  Shall  I  be  considered  rude  if  I  say  that  I  seldom  or 
never  saw  a  finer  head  than  yours  on  a  man's  shoulders  ? 
And  judging  by  the  face,  it  is  well  lined." 

"  Like  a  buck-basket,"  said  Frank,  "  full  of  dirty  linen. 
Plenty  of  it,  and  of  some  quality,  but  not  in  a  state  fit  for 
use  yet.  I  will  have  it  washed  up,  and  wear  such  of  it  as 
is  worth  soon." 

The  Doctor  saw  he  had  found  a  man  after  his  own 
heart,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Frank  and  he  were  in  the 
seventh  heaven  of  discussion.  Meanwhile,  the  Major  had 
drawn  up  alongside  of  Tom,  and  said — 

"  Any  news  of  the  poor  little  dove  that  has  left  the  nest, 
old  friend?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  eagerly ;  "  we  have  got  a  letter. 
Good  news,  too." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  said  the  Major.  "  And  where 
are  they?  " 

"  They  are  now  at  Brighton. " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  turning  round.  "  Any 
news  ?  " 

They  told  him,  and  then  it  became  necessary  to  tell 
Frank  Maberly  what  he  had  not  known  before,  that  the 
Vicar  had  a  daughter  who  had  "  gone  off." 

"  One  of  the  prettiest,  sweetest  creatures,  Mr.  Maberly," 
said  the  Major,  "  that  you  ever  saw  in  your  life.  None  of 
us,  I  believe,  knew  how  well  we  loved  her  till  she  was 
gone." 

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The  Recollections  of 

"  And  a  very  remarkable  character,  besides,"  said  the 
Doctor.  "  Such  a  force  of  will  as  you  see  in  few  women 
of  her  age.  Obscured  by  passion  and  girlish  folly,  it 
seemed  more  like  obstinacy  to  us.  But  she  has  a  noble 
heart,  and,  when  she  has  outlived  her  youthful  fancies,  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  she  turned  out  a  very  remark- 
able woman." 


Chapter  XIII 
The  Discovery 

ONE  morning  the  man  who  went  once  a-week  from  old 
Hawker's,  at  the  Woodlands,  down  to  the  post,  brought 
back  a  letter,  which  he  delivered  to  Madge  at  the  door. 
She  turned  it  over  and  examined  it  more  carefully  than 
she  generally  did  the  old  man's  letters,  for  it  was  directed 
in  a  clerk-like  hand,  and  was  sealed  with  a  big  and  im- 
portant-looking seal,  and  when  she  came  to  examine  this 
seal,  she  saw  that  it  bore  the  words  "  B.  and  F.  Bank." 
"  So,  they  are  at  it  again,  are  they  ?  "  she  said.  "  The 
deuce  take  'em,  I  say :  though  for  that  matter  I  can't  ex- 
actly blame  the  folks  for  looking  after  their  own.  Well, 
there's  no  mistake  about  one  thing,  he  must  see  this  letter, 
else  some  of  'em  will  be  coming  over  and  blowing  the 
whole  thing.  He  will  ask  me  to  read  it  for  him,  and  I'll 
do  so,  right  an  end.  Lord,  what  a  breeze  there'll  be  !  I 
hope  I  shall  be  able  to  pull  my  lad  through,  though  it  very 
much  depends  on  the  old  'un's  temper.  However,  I  shall 
soon  know." 

Old  Hawker  was  nearly  blind,  and  although  an  avari- 
cious, suspicious  old  man,  as  a  general  rule,  trusted  im- 
plicitly on  ordinary  occasions  to  George  and  Madge  in 
the  management  of  his  accounts,  reflecting,  with  some 
reason,  that  it  could  not  be  their  interest  to  cheat  him.  Of 
late,  however,  he  had  been  uneasy  in  his  mind.  Madge, 
there  was  no  denying,  had  got  through  a  great  deal  more 
124 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

money  than  usual,  and  he  was  not  satisfied  with  her  ac- 
count of  where  it  had  gone.  She,  we  know,  was  in  the 
habit  of  supplying  George's  extravagances  in  a  way  which 
tried  all  her  ingenuity  to  hide  from  him,  and  he,  mistrust- 
ing her  statements,  had  determined  as  far  as  he  could  to 
watch  her. 

On  this  occasion  she  laid  the  letter  on  the  breakfast 
table,  and  waited  his  coming  down,  hoping  that  he  might 
be  in  a  good  humour,  so  that  there  might  be  some  chance 
of  averting  the  storm  from  George.  Madge  was  much 
terrified  for  the  consequences,  but  was  quite  calm  and 
firm. 

Not  long  before  she  heard  his  heavy  step  coming  down 
the  stairs,  and  soon  he  came  into  the  room,  evidently  in 
no  favourable  state  of  mind. 

"  If  you  don't  kill  or  poison  that  black  tom-cat,"  was 
his  first  speech,  "  by  the  Lord  I  will.  I  suppose  you  keep 
him  for  some  of  your  witchwork.  But  if  he's  the  devil 
himself,  as  I  believe  he  is,  I'll  shoot  him.  I  won't  be  kept 
out  of  my  natural  sleep  by  such  a  devil's  brat  as  that. 
He's  been  keeping  up  such  a  growling  and  a  scrowling 
on  the  hen-house  roof  all  night,  that  I  thought  it  was  Old 
Scratch  come  for  you,  and  getting  impatient.  If  you 
must  keep  an  imp  of  Satan  in  the  house,  get  a  mole,  or  a 
rat,  or  some  quiet  beast  of  that  sort,  and  not  such  a  vicious 
toad  as  him." 

"  Shoot  him  after  breakfast  if  you  like,"  she  said. 
"  He's  no  friend  of  mine.  Get  your  breakfast,  and  don't 
be  a  fool.  There's  a  letter  for  you  ;  take  and  read  it." 

"  Yah  !  Read  it,  she  says,  and  knows  I'm  blind,"  said 
Hawker.  "  You  artful  minx,  you  want  to  read  it  yourself." 

He  took  the  letter  up,  and  turned  it  over  and  over. 
He  knew  the  seal,  and  shot  a  suspicious  glance  at  her. 
Then,  looking  at  her  fixedly,  he  put  it  in  his  breast-pocket, 
and  buttoned  up  his  coat. 

"  There  !  "  he  said.  "  I'll  read  it.  Oh  yes,  believe  me, 
I'll  read  it.  You  Jezebel !  " 

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The  Recollections  of 

"  You'd  better  eat  your  meat  like  a  Christian  man,"  she 
answered,  "  and  not  make  such  faces  as  them." 

"  Where's  the  man  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Outside,  I  suppose." 

"  Tell  him  I  want  the  gig.  I'm  going  out  for  a  drive. 
A  pleasure  drive,  you  know.  All  down  the  lane,  and  back 
again.  Cut  along  and  tell  him,  before  I  do  you  a  mischief." 

She  saw  he  was  in  one  of  his  evil  humours,  when  noth- 
ing was  to  be  done  with  him,  and  felt  very  uneasy.  She 
went  and  ordered  the  gig,  and  when  he  had  finished 
breakfast,  he  came  out  to  the  door. 

"  You'd  best  take  your  big  coat,"  she  said,  "  else  you'll 
be  getting  cold,  and  be  in  a  worse  temper  than  you  are, — 
and  that's  bad  enough,  Lord  knows,  for  a  poor  woman  to 
put  up  with." 

"  How  careful  she  is  !  "  said  Hawker.  "  What  care  she 
takes  of  the  old  man  !  I've  left  you  ten  thousand  pounds 
in  my  will,  ducky.  Good-bye." 

He  drove  off,  and  left  her  standing  in  the  porch.  What 
a  wild,  tall  figure  she  was,  standing  so  stern  and  stead- 
fast there  in  the  morning  sun  ! — a  woman  one  would 
rather  have  for  a  friend  than  an  enemy. 

Hawker  was  full  of  other  thoughts  than  these.  Coup- 
ling his  other  suspicions  of  Madge  with  the  receipt  of  this 
letter  from  the  bank,  he  was  growing  very  apprehensive 
of  something  being  wrong.  He  wanted  this  letter  read 
to  him,  but  whom  could  he  trust  ?  Who  better  than  his 
old  companion  Burrows,  who  lived  in  the  valley  below  the 
Vicarage  ?  So,  whipping  up  his  horse,  he  drove  there, 
but  found  he  was  out.  He  turned  back  again,  puzzled, 
going  slowly,  and  as  he  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill, 
below  the  Vicarage,  he  saw  a  tall  man  leaning  against  the 
gate,  and  smoking. 

"  He'll  do   for  want  of  a  better,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  He's  an  honest-going  fellow,  and   we've  always  been 
good  friends,  and  done  good  business  together,  though  he 
is  one  of  that  cursed  Vicarage  lot." 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

So  he  drew  up  when  he  came  to  the  gate.  "  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mr.  Troubridge,"  he  said,  with  a  very  different 
tone  and  manner  to  what  we  have  been  accustomed  to 
hear  him  use,  "  but  could  you  do  a  kindness  for  a  blind 
old  man  ?  I  have  no  one  about  me  that  I  can  trust  since 
my  son  is  gone  away.  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  this 
letter  is  of  importance ;  could  you  be  so  good  as  to  read 
it  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you,  Mr.  Hawker,"  said 
Tom.  "  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  your  sight  is  so  bad." 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  breaking  fast,"  said  Hawker.  "  However, 
I  shan't  be  much  missed.  I  don't  inquire  how  the  Vicar 
is,  because  I  know  already,  and  because  I  don't  think  he 
would  care  much  for  my  inquiries,  after  the  injury  my 
son  has  done  him.  I  will  break  the  seal.  Now  may  I 
trouble  you  ?  " 

Tom  Troubridge  read  aloud  : — 

"  B.  and  F.  Bank.     [Such  a  date.] 

"  Sir, — May  I  request  that  you  will  favour  me  personal- 
ly with  a  call,  at  the  earliest  possible  opportunity,  at  my 
private  office,  166,  Broad  Street?  I  have  reason  to  fear 
that  two  forged  cheques,  bearing  your  signature,  have 
been  inadvertently  cashed  by  us.  The  amount,  I  am 
sorry  to  inform  you,  is  considerable.  I  need  not  further 
urge  your  immediate  attention.  This  is  the  third  commu- 
nication we  have  made  to  you  on  the  subject,  and  are 
much  surprised  at  receiving  no  answer.  I  hope  that  you 
will  be  so  good  as  to  call  at  once. 

44  Yours,  sir,  &c.,  P.  ROLLOX,  Manager." 

41  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Troubridge,"  said  the  old  man,  quiet- 
ly and  politely.  4<  You  see  I  was  not  wrong  when  I 
thought  that  this  letter  was  of  importance.  May  I  beg  as 
a  favour  that  you  would  not  mention  this  to  any  one  ?  " 

44  Certainly,  Mr.  Hawker.     I  will  respect  your  wish.     I 
hope  your  loss  may  not  be  heavy." 
127 


The  Recollections  of 

"  The  loss  will  not  be  mine  though,  will  it  ?  "  said  old 
Hawker.  "  I  anticipate  that  it  will  fall  on  the  bank.  It 
is  surely  at  their  risk  to  cash  cheques.  Why,  a  man 
might  sign  for  all  the  money  I  have  in  their  hands,  and 
surely  they  would  be  answerable  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  aware  how  the  law  stands,  Mr.  Hawker," 
said  Troubridge.  "  Fortunately,  no  one  has  ever  thought 
it  worth  while  to  forge  my  name." 

"  Well,  I  wish  you  a  good  day,  sir,  with  many  thanks," 
said  Hawker.  "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  in  Exeter  ?  " 

Old  Hawker  drove  away  rapidly  in  the  direction  of  Ex- 
eter ;  his  horse,  a  fine  black,  clearing  the  ground  in  splen- 
did style.  Although  a  cunning  man,  he  was  not  quick  in 
following  a  train  of  reasoning,  and  he  was  half-way  to 
Exeter  before  he  had  thoroughly  comprehended  his  sit- 
uation. And  then,  all  he  saw  was  that  somebody  had 
forged  his  name,  and  he  believed  that  Madge  knew  some- 
thing about  it. 

"  I  wish  my  boy  George  was  at  home,"  he  said.  "  He'd 
save  me  getting  a  lawyer  now.  I  am  altogether  in  the 
hands  of  those  Bank  folks  if  they  like  to  cheat  me,  though 
it's  not  likely  they'd  do  that.  At  all  events  I  will  take 
Dickson  with  me." 

Dickson  was  an  attorney  of  good  enough  repute.  A 
very  clever  quiet  man,  and  a  good  deal  employed  by  old 
Hawker,  when  his  business  was  not  too  disreputable. 
Some  years  before.  Hawker  had  brought  some  such  ex- 
cessively dirty  work  to  his  office,  that  the  lawyer  politely 
declined  having  anything  to  do  with  it,  but  recommended 
him  to  an  attorney  who  he  thought  would  undertake  it. 
And  from  that  time  the  old  fellow  treated  him  with  marked 
respect,  and  spoke  everywhere  of  him  as  a  man  to  be 
trusted ;  such  an  effect  had  the  fact  of  a  lawyer  refusing 
business  had  on  him  ! 

He  reached  Exeter  by  two  o'clock,  so  rapidly  had  he 
driven.  He  went  at  once  to  Dickson 's,  and  found  him  at 
home,  busy  swinging  the  poker,  in  deep  thought,  before 
128 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

the  fireplace  in  his  inner  office.  He  was  a  small  man, 
with  an  impenetrable  expressionless  face,  who  never  was 
known  to  unbend  himself  to  a  human  being.  Only  two 
facts  were  known  about  him.  One  was,  that  he  was  the 
best  swimmer  in  Exeter,  and  had  saved  several  lives  from 
drowning  ;  and  the  other  was,  that  he  gave  away  (for  him) 
large  sums  in  private  charity. 

Such  was  the  man  who  now  received  old  Hawker,  with 
quiet  politeness ;  and  having  sent  his  horse  round  to  the 
inn  stable  by  a  clerk,  sat  down  once  more  by  the  fire,  and 
began  swinging  the  poker,  and  waiting  for  the  other  to 
begin  the  conversation. 

"  If  you  are  not  engaged,  Mr.  Dickson,"  said  Hawker, 
"  I  would  be  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  could  step  round 
to  the  B.  and  F.  Bank  with  me.  I  want  you  to  witness 
what  passes,  and  to  read  any  letters  or  papers  for  me  that 
I  shall  require." 

The  attorney  put  down  the  poker,  got  his  hat,  and 
stood  waiting,  all  without  a  word. 

"  You  won't  find  it  necessary  to  remark  on  anything 
that  occurs,  Mr.  Dickson,  unless  I  ask  your  opinion." 

The  attorney  nodded,  and  whistled  a  tune.  And  then 
they  started  together  through  the  crowded  street. 

The  bank  was  not  far,  and  Hawker  pushed  his  way  in 
among  the  crowd  of  customers.  It  was  some  time  before 
he  could  get  hold  of  a  clerk,  there  was  so  much  business 
going  on.  When,  at  last,  he  did  so,  he  said — "  I  want  to 
see  Mr.  Rollox  ;  he  told  me  to  call  on  him  at  once." 

"  He  is  engaged  at  present,"  said  the  clerk.  "  It  is 
quite  impossible  you  can  see  him." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  man," 
said  Hawker.  "  Send  in  and  tell  him  Mr.  Hawker,  of 
Drumston,  is  here." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Hawker.  I  have  only 
just  come  here,  and  did  not  know  you.  Porter,  show  Mr. 
Hawker  in." 

They  went  into  the  formal  bank  parlour.  There  was 
129 


The  Recollections  of 

the  leather  writing  table,  the  sheet  almanac,  the  iron  safe, 
and  all  the  weapons  by  which  bankers  war  against  man- 
kind, as  in  all  other  sanctuaries  of  the  kind.  Moreover, 
there  was  the  commander-in-chief  himself,  sitting  at  the 
table.  A  bald,  clever,  gentlemanly-looking  man,  who 
bowed  when  they  came  in.  "  Good  day,  Mr.  Hawker.  I 
am  obliged  to  you  for  calling  at  last.  We  thought  some- 
thing was  wrong.  Mr.  Dickson,  I  hope  you  are  well. 
Are  you  attending  with  Mr.  Hawker,  or  -are  you  come  on 
private  business  ?  " 

The  attorney  said — "  I'm  come  at  his  request,"  and  re- 
lapsed into  silence. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  'manager.  "  I  am,  on  the  whole,  glad 
that  Mr.  Hawker  has  brought  a  professional  adviser  with 
him.  Though,"  he  added,  laughing,  "  it  is  putting  me 
rather  at  a  disadvantage,  you  know.  Two  to  one, — eh  ?  " 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  close  the 
door  carefully,  and  be  seated,  I  will  proceed  to  business, 
hoping  that  you  will  give  me  your  best  attention.  About 
six  or  eight  months  ago, — let  me  be  particular,  though," 
said  he,  referring  to  some  papers, — "  that  is  rather  a  loose 
way  of  beginning.  Here  it  is.  The  fourth  of  September 
last  year — yes.  On  that  day,  Mr.  Hawker,  a  cheque  was 
presented  at  this  bank,  drawn  '  in  favour  of  bearer,'  and 
signed  in  your  name,  for  two  hundred  pounds,  and  cashed, 
the  person  who  presented  it  being  well  known  here." 

"  Who  ?  "  interrupted  Hawker. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  the  manager  ;  "  allow  me  to  come 
to  that  hereafter.  You  were  about  to  say,  I  anticipate, 
that  you  never  drew  a  cheque  '  on  bearer '  in  your  life. 
Quite  true.  That  ought  to  have  excited  attention,  but  if 
did  not  till  a  few  very  weeks  ago,  our  head-clerk,  casting 
his  eyes  down  your  account,  remarked  on  the  peculiarity, 
and,  on  examining  the  cheque,  was  inclined  to  believe  that 
it  was  not  in  your  usual  handwriting.  He  intended  com- 
municating with  me,  but  was  prevented  for  some  days  by 
my  absence ;  and,  in  the  meantime,  another  cheque, 
130 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

similar,  but  better  imitated,  was  presented  by  the  same 
person,  and  cashed,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  head- 
clerk.  On  the  cheque  coming  into  his  hands,  he  repri- 
manded the  cashier,  and  he  and  I,  having  more  closely 
examined  them,  came  to  the  conclusion  that  they  were 
both  forgeries.  We  immediately  communicated  with  you, 
and,  to  our  great  surprise,  received  no  answer  either  to 
our  first  or  second  application.  We,  however,  were  not 
idle.  We  ascertained  that  we  could  lay  our  hands  on  the 
utterer  of  the  cheques  at  any  moment,  and  tried  a  third 
letter  to  you,  which  has  been  successful." 

"  The  two  letters  you  speak  of  have  never  reached  me, 
Mr.  Rollox,"  said  Hawker.  "  I  started  off  on  the  receipt 
of  yours  this  morning — the  first  I  saw.  I  am  sorry,  sir, 
that  the  bank  should  lose  money  through  me ;  but,  by 
your  own  showing,  sir,  the  fault  lay  with  your  own 
clerks." 

"  I  have  never  attempted  to  deny  it,  Mr.  Hawker," 
said  the  manager.  "  But  there  are  other  matters  to  be 
considered.  Before  I  go  on,  I  wish  to  give  you  an  oppor- 
tunity of  sending  away  your  professional  adviser,  and  con- 
tinuing this  conversation  with  me  alone." 

They  both  turned  and  looked  at  the  lawyer.  He  was 
sitting  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  one  would  have 
thought  he  was  whistling,  only  no  sound  came.  His  face 
showed  no  signs  of  intelligence  in  any  feature  save  his 
eyes,  and  they  were  expressive  of  the  wildest  and  most  un- 
bounded astonishment. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  in  this  matter,  sir,"  said  Hawker, 
"  that  I  should  not  wish  Mr.  Dickson  to  hear.  He  is  an 
honourable  man,  and  I  confide  in  him  thoroughly." 

"  So  be  it,  then,  Mr.  Hawker,"  said  the  manager.  "  I 
have  as  high  an  opinion  of  my  friend  Mr.  Dickson  as  you 
have ;  but  I  warn  you,  that  some  part  of  what  will  follow 
will  touch  you  very  unpleasantly." 

"  I  don't  see  how,"  said  Hawker  ;  "  go  on,  if  you 
please." 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  examine  these  two  cheques, 
and  say  whether  they  are  genuine  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  to  look  at  the  amount  of  this  large  one,  to 
pronounce  it  an  impudent  forgery,"  said  Hawker.  "  I 
have  not  signed  so  large  a  cheque  for  many  years.  There 
was  one  last  January  twelvemonth  of  .£400,  for  the  land 
at  Highcot,  and  that  is  the  largest,  I  believe,  I  ever  gave 
in  my  life." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  they  are  forgeries.  Your  sight, 
I  believe,  is  too  bad  to  swear  easily  to  your  own  signature  ; 
but  that  is  quite  enough.  Now,  I  have  laid  this  case  be- 
fore our  governor,  Lord  C — ,  and  he  went  so  far  as  to  say 
that,  under  the  painful  circumstances  of  the  case,  if  you 
were  to  refund  the  money,  the  bank  might  let  the  matter 
drop  ;  but  that,  otherwise,  it  would  be  their  most  painful 
duty  to  prosecute." 

"/  refund  the  money!"  laughed  Hawker;  "you  are 
playing  with  me,  sir.  Prosecute  the  dog ;  I  will  come  and 
see  him  hung  !  Ha !  ha  !  " 

"It  will  be  a  terrible  thing  if  we  prosecute  the  utterer  of 
these  cheques,"  said  the  manager. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Hawker.  "  By-the-bye,  you  know  who 
he  is,  don't  you  ?  Tell  me  who  it  is  ?  " 

"  Your  own  son,  Mr.  Hawker,"  said  the  manager,  al- 
most in  a  whisper. 

Hawker  rose  and  glared  at  them  with  such  a  look  of 
deadly  rage  that  they  shrank  from  him  appalled.  Then, 
he  tottered  to  the  mantelpiece  and  leant  against  it,  trying 
to  untie  his  neckcloth  with  feeble,  trembling  fingers. 

"  Open  your  confounded  window  there,  Rollox,"  cried 
the  lawyer,  starting  up.  "  Where's  the  wine  ?  Look 
sharp,  man ! " 

Hawker  waved  to  him  impatiently  to  sit  down,  and  then 
said,  at  first  gasping  for  breath,  but  afterwards  more 
quietly  : 

"  Are  you  sure  it  was  he  that  brought  those  cheques  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  the  manager.  "  You  may  be  sure 
132 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

it  was  he.  Had  it  been  any  one  else,  they  would  not  have 
been  cashed  without  more  examination  ;  and  on  the  last 
occasion  he  accounted  rather  elaborately  for  your  drawing 
such  a  large  sum." 

Hawker  recovered  himself  and  sat  down. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  gentlemen,"  he  said.  "  Not  this 
time.  I've  something  to  do  before  that  comes.  It  won't 
be  long,  the  doctor  says,  but  I  must  transact  some  business 
first.  O  Lord !  I  see  it  all  now.  That  cursed,  cursed 
woman  and  her  boy  have  been  hoodwinking  me  and  play- 
ing with  me  all  this  time,  have  they?  Oh,  but  I'll  have 
my  vengeance  on  'em — one  to  the  stocks,  and  another  to 
the  gallows.  I,  unfortunately,  can't  give  you  any  infor- 
mation where  that  man  is  that  has  the  audacity  to  bear  my 
name,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  manager.  "  His  mother  at  one 
time  persuaded  me  that  he  was  a  child  of  mine  ;  but  such 
infernal  gipsy  drabs  as  that  can't  be  depended  on,  you 
know.  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  a  very  good  after- 
noon, sir,  thanking  you  for  your  information,  and  hoping 
your  counsel  will  secure  a  speedy  conviction.  I  shall 
probably  trouble  you  to  meet  me  at  a  magistrate's  to-mor- 
row morning,  where  I  will  take  my  oath  in  his  presence 
that  those  cheques  are  forgeries.  You  will  find  alterations 
in  my  banker's  book,  too,  I  expect.  We'll  look  into  it  all 
to-morrow.  Come  along,  Dickson,  my  sly  little  weasel ; 
I've  a  gay  night's  work  for  you ;  I'm  going  to  leave  all  my 
property  to  my  cousin  Nick,  my  bitterest  enemy,  and  a 
lawsuit  with  it  that'll  break  his  heart.  There's  fun  for  the 
lawyers, — eh,  my  boy  !" 

So  talking,  the  old  man  strode  firmly  forth,  with  a  bitter, 
malignant  scowl  on  his  flushed  face.  The  lawyer  followed 
him,  and,  when  they  were  in  the  street,  Hawker  again 
asked  him  to  come  to  the  inn  and  make  his  will  for  him. 

"  I'll  stay  by  you,  Hawker,  and  see  that  you  don't  make 
a  fool  of  yourself.  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  vindictive. 
It's  indecent ;  you'll  be  ashamed  of  it  to-morrow  ;  but,  in 
the  meantime,  it's  indecent." 

133 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Hawker ;  "  how  quietly  he  talks  ! 
One  can  see  that  he  hasn't  had  a  bastard  child  fathered  on 
him  by  a  gipsy  hag.  Come  along,  old  fellow;  there's 
fifty  pounds'  worth  of  work  for  you  this  week,  if  I  only 
live  through  it !  " 

He  took  the  lawyer  to  the  inn,  and  they  got  dinner. 
Hawker  ate  but  little,  for  him,  but  drank  a  good  deal. 
Dickson  thought  he  was  getting  drunk  ;  but  when  dinner 
was  over,  and  Hawker  had  ordered  in  spirits-and-water, 
he  seemed  sober  enough  again. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Dickson,"  said  he,  "  I  am  going  to  make  a 
fresh  will  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  shall  want  you  to 
draw  it  up  for  me.  After  that  I  want  you  to  come  home 
with  me  and  transact  business.  You  will  do  a  good  day's 
work,  I  promise  you.  You  seem  to  me  now  to  be  the 
only  man  in  the  world  I  can  trust.  I  pray  you  don't  de- 
sert me." 

"  As  I  said  before,"  replied  the  lawyer,  "  I  won't  desert 
you  ;  but  listen  to  me.'  I  don't  half  like  the  sudden  way 
you  have  turned  against  your  own  son.  Why  don't  you 
pay  this  money,  and  save  the  disgrace  of  that  unhappy 
young  man  ?  I  don't  say  anything  about  your  disinherit- 
ing him — that's  no  business  of  mine — but  don't  be  witness 
against  him.  The  bank,  or  rather  my  Lord  C — ,  has  been 
very  kind  about  it.  Take  advantage  of  their  kindness  and 
hush  the  matter  up." 

"  I  know  you  ain't  in  the  pay  of  the  bank,"  said  Hawker, 
"so  I  won't  charge  you  with  it.  I  know  you  better  than 
to  think  you'd  lend  yourself  to  anything  so  mean  ;  but 
your  conduct  looks  suspicious.  If  you  hadn't  done  me  a 
few  disinterested  kindnesses  lately,  I  should  say  that 
they'd  paid  you  to  persuade  me  to  stop  this,  so  as  they 
might  get  their  money  back,  and  save  the  cost  of  a  prosecu- 
tion. But  I  ain't  so  far  gone  as  to  believe  that ;  and  so  I 
tell  you,  as  one  man  to  another,  that  if  you'd  come  sud- 
denly on  such  a  mine  of  treason  and  conspiracy  as  I  have 
this  afternoon,  and  found  a  lad  that  you  have  treated  as, 

134 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

and  tried  to  believe  was,  your  own  son,  you'd  be  as  bad  as 
me.  Every  moment  I  think  of  it,  it  comes  out  clearer. 
That  woman  that  lives  with  me  has  palmed  that  brat  of 
hers  on  me  as  my  child ;  and  he  and  she  have  been 
plundering  me  these  years  past.  The  money  that  woman 
has  made  away  with  would  build  a  ship,  sir.  What  she's 
done  with  it,  her  master,  the  devil,  only  knows ;  and  I've 
said  nought  about  it,  because  she's  a  witch,  and  I  was 
afraid  of  her.  But  now  I've  found  her  out.  She  has 
stopped  the  letters  that  they  wrote  to  me  about  this  boy's 
forgery,  and  that  shows  she  was  in  it.  She  shall  pack.  I 
won't  prosecute  her  ;  no.  I've  reasons  against  that ;  but 
I'll  turn  her  out  in  the  world  without  a  sixpence.  You  see 
I'm  quiet  enough  now  !  " 

"  You're  quiet  enough,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  and  you've 
stated  your  case  very  well.  But  are  you  sure  this  lad  is 
not  your  son  ?  " 

"  If  I  was  sure  that  he  was,"  said  Hawker,  "  it  would'nt 
make  any  difference,  as  I  know  on.  Ah,  man,  you  don't 
know  what  a  rage  I'm  in.  If  I  chose,  I  could  put  myself 
into  such  an  infernal  passion  at  this  moment  as  would 
bring  on  a  'plectic  fit,  and  lay  me  dead  on  the  floor.  But 
I  won't  do  it,  not  yet.  I'll  have  another  drop  of  brandy, 
and  sing  you  a  song.  Shall  I  give  'ee  '  Roger  a-Maying,' 
or  what'll  ye  have  ?  " 

"I'll  have  you  go  to  bed,  and  not  take  any  more 
brandy,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  If  you  sing,  get  in  one  of  the 
waiters,  and  sing  to  him  ;  he'd  enjoy  it.  I'm  going  home, 
but  I  shall  come  to  breakfast  to-morrow  morning,  and 
find  you  in  a  different  humour." 

"  Good  night,  old  mole,"  said  Hawker ;  "  good  night, 
old  bat,  old  parchment  skin,  old  sixty  per  cent.  Ha,  ha  ! 
If  a  wench  brings  a  brat  to  thee,  old  lad,  chuck  it  out  o' 
window,  and  her  after  it.  Thou  can  only  get  hung  for  it, 
man.  They  can  only  hang  thee  once,  and  that  is  better 
than  to  keep  it  and  foster  it,  and  have  it  turn  against  thee 
when  it  grows  up.  Good  night." 

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The  Recollections  of 

Dickson  came  to  him  in  the  morning,  and  found  him 
in  the  same  mind.  They  settled  down  to  business,  and 
Hawker  made  a  new  will.  He  left  all  his  property  to  his 
cousin  (a  man  he  had  had  a  bitter  quarrel  with  for  years), 
except  £  100  to  his  groom,  and  £  200  to  Tom  Troubridge, 
"  for  an  act  of  civility  "  (so  the  words  ran),  "  in  reading  a 
letter  for  a  man  who  ought  to  have  been  his  enemy." 
And  when  the  will  (a  very  short  one)  was  finished,  and 
the  lawyer  proposed  getting  two  of  his  clerks  as  witnesses, 
Hawker  told  him  to  fold  it  up  and  keep  it ;  that  he  would 
get  it  witnessed  by-and-by. 

"  You're  coming  home  with  me,"  he  said,  "  and  we'll 
get  it  witnessed  there.  You'll  see  why,  when  it's  done." 

Then  they  went  to  the  manager  of  the  bank,  and  got 
him  to  go  before  a  magistrate  with  him,  while  he  deposed 
on  oath  that  the  two  cheques,  before  mentioned,  were 
forgeries,  alleging  that  his  life  was  so  uncertain  that  the 
criminal  might  escape  justice  by  his  sudden  death.  Then 
he  and  Dickson  went  back  to  the  inn,  and  after  dinner 
started  together  to  drive  to  Drumston. 

They  had  been  so  engaged  with  business  that  they  had 
taken  no  notice  of  the  weather.  But  when  they  were  clear 
of  the  northern  suburbs  of  the  town,  and  were  flying 
rapidly  along  the  noble  turn-pike-road  that  turning  east- 
ward skirts  the  broad  Exe  for  a  couple  of  miles  before 
turning  north  again,  they  remarked  that  a  dense  black 
cloud  hung  before  them,  and  that  everything  foreboded  a 
violent  thunderstorm. 

"  We  shall  get  a  drowning  before  we  reach  your  place, 
Hawker,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  I'm  glad  I  brought  my 
coat." 

"  Lawyers  never  get  drowned,"  said  Hawker,  "  though 
I  believe  you  have  tried  it  often  enough." 

When  they  crossed  the  bridge,  and  turned  to  the  north, 

along  the  pretty  banks  of  the  Greedy,  they  began  to  hope 

that  they  would  leave  it  on  the  right ;  but  ere  they  reached 

Newton  St.  Cyres  they  saw  that  it  was  creeping  up  over- 

136 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

head,  and,  stopping  a  few  minutes  in  that  village,  perceived 
that  the  folks  were  all  out  at  their  doors  talking  to  one 
another,  as  people  do  for  company's  sake  when  a  storm  is 
coming  on. 

Before  they  got  to  Crediton  they  could  distinguish, 
above  the  sound  of  the  wheels,  the  thunder  groaning  and 
muttering  perpetually,  and  as  they  rattled  quickly  past  the 
grand  old  minster  a  few  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall. 

The  boys  were  coming  out  of  the  Grammar  School  in 
shoals,  laughing,  running,  whooping,  as  the  manner  of 
boys  is.  Hawker  drove  slowly  as  he  passed  through  the 
crowd,  and  the  lawyer  took  that  opportunity  to  put  on  his 
great-coat. 

"  We've  been  lucky  so  far,"  he  said,  "  and  now  we  are 
going  to  pay  for  our  good  luck.  Before  it  is  too  late, 
Hawker,  pull  up  and  stay  here.  If  we  have  to  stop  all 
night,  I'll  pay  expenses;  I  will  indeed.  It  will  be  dark 
before  we  are  home.  Do  stop." 

"  Not  for  a  thousand  pound,"  said  Hawker.  "  I 
wouldn't  baulk  myself  now  for  a  thousand  pound.  Hey  ! 
fancy  turning  her  out  such  a  night  as  this  without  six- 
pence in  her  pocket.  Why,  a  man  like  you,  that  all  the 
county  knows,  a  man  who  has  got  two  gold  medals  for 
bravery,  ain't  surely  afraid  of  a  thunderstorm  ?  " 

"  I  ain't  afraid  of  the  thunderstorm,  but  I  am  of  the 
rheumatism,"  said  the  other.  "  As  for  a  thunderstorm, 
you're  as  safe  out  of  doors  as  in  ;  some  say  safer.  But 
you're  mistaken  if  you  suppose  I  don't  fear  death,  Hawk- 
er. I  fear  it  as  much  as  any  man." 

"  It  didn't  look  like  it  that  time  you  soused  in  over  the 
weir  after  the  groom  lad,"  said  Hawker. 

"  Bah  !  man,"  said  the  lawyer;  "  I'm  the  best  swimmer 
in  Devon.  That  was  proved  by  my  living  in  that  weir  in 
flood  time.  So  I  have  less  to  fear  than  any  one  else. 
Why,  if  that  boy  hadn't  been  as  quiet  and  plucky  as  he 
was,  I  knew  I  could  kick  him  off  any  minute,  and  get 
ashore.  Hallo ;  that's  nearer."  .  . 

137 


The  Recollections  of 

The  storm  burst  on  them  in  full  fury,  and  soon  after  it 
grew  dark.  The  good  horse,  however,  stepped  out  gal- 
lantly, though  they  made  but  little  way  ;  for,  having  left 
the  high  road  and  taken  to  the  narrow  lanes,  their  course 
was  always  either  up  hill  or  down,  and  every  bottom  they 
passed  grew  more  angry  with  the  flooding  waters  as  they 
proceeded.  Still,  through  darkness,  rain,  and  storm,  they 
held  their  way  till  they  saw  the  lights  of  Drumston  below 
them. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  your  house,  Hawker  ?  "  said  the  law- 
yer. "  This  storm  seems  to  hang  about  still.  It  is  as  bad 
as  ever.  You  must  be  very  wet." 

"  It's  three  miles  to  my  place,  but  a  level  road,  at  least 
all  uphill,  gently  rising.  Cheer  up  !  We  won't  be  long." 

They  passed  through  the  village  rapidly,  lighted  by  the 
lightning.  The  last  three  miles  were  done  as  quickly  as 
any  part  of  the  journey,  and  the  lawyer  rejoiced  to  find  him- 
self before  the  white  gate  that  led  up  to  Hawker's  house. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  drew  up  to  the  door.  The 
storm  seemed  worse  than  ever.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
kitchen,  and  when  Hawker  had  halloed  once  or  twice,  a 
young  man  ran  out  to  take  the  horse. 

"  Is  that  you,  my  boy  ?  "  said  Hawker.  "  Rub  the  horse 
down,  and  come  in  to  get  something.  This  ain't  a  night 
fit  for  a  dog  to  be  out  in  ;  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,"  said  the  man.  "  I  hope  none's  out 
in  it  but  what  likes  to  be." 

They  went  in.  Madge  looked  up  from  arranging  the 
table  for  supper,  and  stared  at  Hawker  keenly.  He  laughed 
aloud,  and  said, — 

"  So  you  didn't  expect  me  to-night,  deary,  eh  ?  " 

"  You've  chose  a  bad  night  to  come  home  in,  old  man," 
she  answered. 

"  A  terrible  night,  ain't  it  ?  Wouldn't  she  have  been 
anxious  if  she'd  a'  known  I'd  been  out  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  as  I  should,"  she  said.     "  That  gentleman 
had  better  get  dried,  and  have  his  supper." 
138 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  I've  got  a  bit  of  business  first,  deary.  Where's  the 
girl?" 

"  In  the  other  kitchen." 

"  Call  her. — Lord  !  listen  to  that." 

A  crash  of  thunder  shook  the  house,  heard  loud  above 
the  rain,  which  beat  furiously  against  the  windows.  Madge 
immediately  returned  with  the  servant  girl,  a  modest, 
quiet-looking  creature,  evidently  in  terror  at  the  storm. 

"  Get  out  that  paper,  Dickson,  and  we'll  get  it  signed." 

The  lawyer  produced  the  will,  and  Madge  and  the  ser- 
vant girl  were  made  to  witness  it.  Dickson,  having  dried 
the  signatures,  took  charge  of  it  again ;  and  then  Hawker 
turned  round  fiercely  to  Madge. 

"  That's  my  new  will,"  he  said  ;  "  my  new  will,  old  wom- 
an. Oh,  you  cat !  I've  found  you  out." 

Madge  saw  a  storm  was  coming,  worse  than  the  one 
which  raged  and  rattled  outside,  and  she  braced  her  nerves 
to  meet  it. 

"  What  have  you  found  out,  old  man  ?  "  she  said  quietly. 

"I've  found  out  that  you  and  that  young  scoundrel  have 
been  robbing  and  cheating  me  in  a  way  that  would  bring 
me  to  the  workhouse  in  another  year.  I  have  found  out 
that  he  has  forged  my  name  for  nearly  a  thousand  pounds, 
and  that  you've  helped  him.  I  find  that  you  yourself  have 
robbed  me  of  hundreds  of  pounds,  and  that  I  have  been 
blinded,  and  cozened,  and  hoodwinked  by  two  that  I  kept 
from  the  workhouse,  and  treated  as  well  as  I  treated  my- 
self. That's  what  I  have  found  out,  gipsy." 

"  Well  ?  "  was  all  Madge  said,  standing  before  him  with 
her  arms  folded. 

"  So  I  say,"  said  Hawker ;  "  it  is  very  well.  The 
mother  to  the  streets,  and  the  boy  to  the  gallows." 

"  You  wouldn't  prosecute  him,  William  ;  your  own  son  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shan't,"  he  replied  ; — "  but  the  Bank  will." 

"  And  couldn't  you  stop  it?  " 

"  I  could.  But  if  holding  up  my  little  finger  would  save 
him,  I  wouldn't  do  it." 

139 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Oh,  William,"  she  cried,  throwing  herself  on  her 
knees  ;  "  don't  look  like  that.  I  confess  everything  ;  visit 
it  on  me,  but  spare  that  boy." 

"  You  confess,  do  you?  "  he  said.  "  Get  up.  Get  out 
of  my  house  ;  you  shan't  stay  here." 

But  she  would  not  go,  but  hanging  round  him,  kept  say- 
ing, "  Spare  the  boy,  William,  spare  the  boy  !  "  over  and 
again,  till  he  struck  her  in  his  fury,  and  pulled  her  towards 
the  door. 

"  Get  out  and  herd  with  the  gipsies  you  belong  to,"  he 
said.  "  You  witch,  you  can't  cry  now." 

"  But,"  she  moaned,  "  oh,  not  such  a  night  as  this,  Will- 
iam ;  not  to-night.  I  am  frightened  of  the  storm.  Let 
me  stay  to-night.  I  am  frightened  of  the  lightning.  Oh, 
I  wouldn't  turn  out  your  dog  such  a  night  as  this." 

"  Out,  out,  you  devil !  " 

"  Oh,  William,  only  one — " 

"  Out,  you  Jezebel,  before  I  do  you  a  mischief." 

He  had  got  the  heavy  door  open,  and  she  passed  out, 
moaning  low  to  herself.  Out  into  the  fierce  rain  and  the 
black  darkness  :  and  the  old  man  held  open  the  door  for 
a  minute,  to  see  if  she  were  gone. 

No.  A  broad, -flickering  riband  of  light  ineffable  wa- 
vered for  an  instant  of  time  before  his  eyes,  lighting  up  the 
country  far  and  wide  ;  but  plainly  visible  between  him  and 
the  blaze  was  a  tall,  dark,  bare-headed  woman,  wildly 
raising  her  hands  above  her  head,  as  if  imploring  ven- 
geance upon  him,  and,  ere  the  terrible  explosion  which 
followed  had  ceased  to  shake  the  old  house  to  its  founda- 
tions, he  shut  the  door,  and  went  muttering  alone  up  to 
his  solitary  chamber. 

The  next  morning  the  groom  came  into  the  lawyer's 
room,  and  informed  him  that  when  he  went  to  call  his 
master  in  the  morning,  he  had  found  the  bed  untouched, 
and  Hawker  sitting  half  undressed  in  his  arm-chair,  dead 
and  cold. 


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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Chapter  XIV 

The  Major's  Visit  to  the    "Nag's-Head" 

MAJOR  BUCKLEY  and  his  wife  stood  together  in  the 
verandah  of  their  cottage,  watching  the  storm.  All  the 
afternoon  they  had  seen  it  creeping  higher  and  higher, 
blacker  and  more  threatening  up  the  eastern  heavens,  un- 
til it  grew  painful  to  wait  any  longer  for  its  approach. 
But  now  that  it  had  burst  on  them,  and  night  had  come  on 
dark  as  pitch,  they  felt  the  pleasant  change  in  the  atmos- 
phere, and,  in  spite  of  the  continuous  gleam  of  the  light- 
ning, and  the  eternal  roll  and  crackle  of  the  thunder,  they 
had  come  out  to  see  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  the  tem- 
•pest. 

They  stood  with  their  arms  entwined  for  some  time,  in 
silence  ;  but  after  a  crash  louder  than  any  of  those  which 
had  preceded  it,  Major  Buckley  said  : — 

"  My  dearest  Agnes,  you  are  very  courageous  in  a  thun- 
derstorm." 

"  Why  not,  James  ?  "  she  said  ;  "  you  cannot  avoid  the 
lightning,  and  the  thunder  won't  harm  you.  Most  wom- 
en fear  the  sound  of  the  thunder  more  than  anything,  but 
I  suspect  that  Ciudad  Rodrigo  made  more  noise  than  this, 
husband  ?  " 

"  It  did  indeed,  my  dear.  More  noise  than  I  ever  heard 
in  any  storm  yet.  It  is  coming  nearer." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  shake  the  poor  Vicar  very  much," 
said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  Ah,  there  is  Sam  crying." 

They  both  went  into  the  sitting-room ;  little  Sam  had 
petitioned  to  go  to  bed  on  the  sofa  till  the  storm  was  over, 
and  now,  awakened  by  the  thunder,  was  sitting  up  in  his 
bed,  crying  out  for  his  mother. 

The  Major  went  in  and  lay  down  by  the  child  on  the 
sofa,  to  quiet  him.     "  What !  "  said  he,  "  Sammy,  you're 
not  afraid  of  thunder,  are  you  ?  " 
141 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Yes  !  I  am,"  said  the  child  ;  "  very  much  indeed.  I 
am  glad  you  are  come,  father." 

"  Lightning  never  strikes  good  boys,  Sam,"  said  the 
Major. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that,  father?  "  said  the  little  one. 

That  was  a  poser ;  so  the  Major  thought  it  best  to 
counterfeit  sleep ;  but  he  overdid  it,  and  snored  so  loud, 
that  the  boy  began  to  laugh,  and  his  father  had  to  prac- 
tice his  deception  with  less  noise.  And  by  degrees,  the 
little  hand  that  held  his  moustache  dropped  feebly  on  the 
bedclothes,  and  the  Major,  ascertaining  by  the  child's 
regular  breathing  that  his  son  was  asleep,  gently  raised 
his  vast  length,  and  proposed  to  his  wife  to  come  into  the 
verandah  again. 

"  The  storm  is  breaking,  my  love,"  said  he  ;  "  and  the 
air  is  deliciously  cool  out  there.  Put  your  shawl  on  and 
come  out." 

They  went  out  again  ;  the  lightning  was  still  vivid,  but 
the  thunder  less  loud.  Straight  down  the  garden  from 
them  stretched  a  broad  gravel  walk,  which  now,  cut  up 
by  the  rain  into  a  hundred  water  channels,  showed  at 
each  flash  like  rivers  of  glittering  silver.  Looking  down 
this  path  toward  the  black  wood  during  one  of  the  longest 
continued  illuminations  of  the  lightning,  they  saw  for  an 
instant  a  dark,  tall  figure,  apparently  advancing  towards 
them.  Then  all  the  prospect  was  wrapped  again  in  ten- 
fold gloom. 

Mrs.  Buckley  uttered  an  exclamation,  and  held  tighter 
to  her  husband's  arm.  Every  time  the  garden  was  lit  up, 
they  saw  the  figure  nearer  and  nearer,  till  they  knew,  that 
it  was  standing  before  them  in  the  darkness ;  the  Major 
was  about  to  speak,  when  a  hoarse  voice,  heard  indistinctly 
above  the  rushing  of  the  rain,  demanded  : 

"  Is  that  Major  Buckley  ?  " 

At  the  same  minute  the  storm-light  blazed  up  once 
more,  and  fell  upon  an  object  so  fearful  and  startling  that 
they  both  fell  back  amazed.  A  woman  was  standing  be- 
142 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

fore  them,  tall,  upright,  and  bareheaded  ;  her  long  black 
hair  falling  over  a  face  as  white  and  ghastly  as  a  three 
days'  corpse  ;  her  wild  countenance  rendered  more  ter- 
rible by  the  blue  glare  of  the  lightning  shining  on  the  rain 
that  streamed  from  every  lock  of  her  hair  and  every  shred 
of  her  garments.  She  looked  like  some  wild  daughter  of 
the  storm,  who  had  lost  her  way,  and  came  wandering  to 
them  for  shelter. 

"  I  am  Major  Buckley,"  was  the  answer.  "  What  do 
you  want?  But  in  God's  name  come  in  out  of  the  rain." 

"  Come  in  and  get  your  things  dried,  my  good  woman," 
said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  What  do  you  want  with  my  hus- 
band such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 

"  Before  I  dry  my  things,  or  come  in,  I  will  state  my 
business,"  said  the  woman,  coming  under  the  verandah. 
"  After  that  I  will  accept  your  hospitality.  This  is  a  night 
when  polecats  and  rabbits  would  shelter  together  in  peace  ; 
and  yet  such  a  night  as  this,  a  man  turns  out  of  his  house 
the  woman  who  has  lain  beside  him  twenty  years." 

"  Who  are  you,  my  good  soul  ?  "  said  the  Major. 

"  They  call  me  Madge  the  Witch,"  she  said ;  "  I  lived 
with  old  Hawker,  at  the  Woodlands,  till  to-night,  and  he 
has  turned  me  out.  I  want  to  put  you  in  possession  of 
some  intelligence  that  may  save  much  misery  to  some  that 
you  love." 

"  I  can  readily  believe  that  you  can  do  it,"  said  the  Ma- 
jor, "  but  pray  don't  stand  there  ;  come  in  with  my  wife, 
and  get  your  things  dried." 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say :  George  Hawk- 
er, my  son — 

"  Your  son — good  God  !  " 

"  I  thought  you  would  have  known  that.  The  Vicar 
does.  Well,  this  son  of  mine  has  run  off  with  the  Vicar's 
daughter." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  has  committed  forgery.  It'll  be  known  all 
over  the  country  to-morrow,  and  even  now  I  fear  the  run- 

143 


The  Recollections  of 

ners  are  after  him.  If  he  is  taken  before  he  marries  that 
girl,  things  will  be  only  worse  than  they  are.  But  never 
mind  whether  he  does  or  not,  perhaps  you  differ  with  me  ; 
perhaps  you  think  that,  if  you  could  find 'the  girl  now, 
you  could  stop  her  and  bring  her  home ;  but  you  don't 
know  where  she  is.  I  do,  and  if  you  will  give  me  your 
solemn  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman  to  give  him  warn- 
ing that  his  forgery  for  five  hundred  pounds  is  discovered, 
I  will  give  you  his  direction." 

The  Major  hesitated  for  a  moment,  thinking. 

"  If  you  reflect  a  moment,  you  must  see  how  straight- 
forward my  story  is.  What  possible  cause  can  I  have  to 
mislead  you  ?  I  know  which  way  you  will  decide,  so  I 
wait  patiently." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  say  yes,  my  love,"  said  the  Major  to 
his  wife  ;  "  if  it  turned  out  afterwards  that  I  neglected  any 
opportunity  of  saving  this  poor  girl  (particularly  if  this 
tale  of  the  forgery  be  true),  I  should  never  forgive  my- 
self." 

"  I  agree  with  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  Give 
your  promise,  and  go  to  seek  her." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  Major ;  "  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honour  that  I  will  give  Hawker  due  warning  of  his 
forgery  being  discovered,  if  you  will  give  me  his  direc- 
tion. I  anticipate  that  they  are  in  London,  and  I  shall 
start  to-night,  to  be  in  time  for  the  morning  coach.  Now, 
will  you  give  me  the  address  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Madge.  "  They  are  at  the  Nag's  Head, 
Buckingham  Street,  Strand,  London  ;  can  you  remember 
that  ?  " 

"  I  know  where  the  street  is,"  said  the  Major ;  "  now 
will  you  go  into  the  kitchen,  and  make  yourself  comfort- 
able? My  dear,  you  will  see  my  valise  packed?  Ellen, 
get  this  person's  clothes  dried,  and  get  her  some  hot  wine. 
By-the-bye,"  said  he,  following  her  into  the  kitchen,  "  you 
must  have  had  a  terrible  quarrel  with  Hawker,  for  him  to 
send  you  out  such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 
144 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  It  was  about  this  matter,"  she  said  :  "  the  boy  forged 
on  his  father,  and  I  knew  it,  and  tried  to  screen  him.  My 
own  son,  you  know." 

"  It  was  natural  enough,"  said  the  Major.  "  You  are 
not  deceiving  me,  are  you  ?  I  don't  see  why  you  should, 
though." 

"  Before  God,  I  am  not.  I  only  want  the  boy  to  get 
warning." 

"  You  must  sleep  here  to-night,"  said  the  Major  ;  "  and 
to-morrow  you  can  go  on  your  way,  though,  if  you  cannot 
conveniently  get  away  in  the  morning,  don't  hurry,  you 
know.  My  house  is  never  shut  against  unfortunate  peo- 
ple. I  have  heard  a  great  deal  of  you,  but  I  never  saw 
you  before  ;  you  must  be  aware,  however,  that  the  charac- 
ter you  have  held  in  the  place  is  not  such  as  warrants  me 
in  asking  you  to  stay  here  for  any  time." 

The  Major  left  the  kitchen,  and  crossed  the  yard.  In  a 
bedroom  above  the  stable  slept  his  groom,  a  man  who  had 
been  through  his  campaigns  with  him  from  first  to  last. 
It  was  to  waken  him  that  the  Major  took  his  way  up  the 
narrow  stairs  towards  the  loft. 

"  Jim,"  he  said,  "  I  want  my  horse  in  an  hour." 

The  man  was  out  of  bed  in  a  moment,  and  while  he  was 
dressing,  the  Major  continued  : — 

"  You  know  Buckingham  Street,  Strand,  Jim,  don't 
you  ?  When  you  were  recruiting  you  used  to  hang  out  at 
a  public-house  there,  unless  I  am  mistaken." 

"  Exactly  so,  sir !  We  did  ;  and  a  many  good  chaps  we 
picked  up  there,  gents  and  all  sorts.  Why,  it  was  in  that 
werry  place,  Major,  as  we  'listed  Lundon ;  him  as  was 
afterwards  made  sergeant  for  being  the  first  man  into  Se- 
bastian, and  arterwards  married  Skettles :  her  as  fell  out 
of  eighteen  stories  at  Brussels  looking  after  the  Duke,  and 
she  swore  at  them  as  came  to  pick  her  up,  she  did ;  and 
walked  in  at  the  front  door  as  bold  as  brass." 

"There,  my  good  lad,"  said  the  Major;  "what's  the 
good  of  telling  such  stories  as  that  ?  Nobody  believes 

145 


The  Recollections  of 

them,  you  know.     Do  you  know  the  Nag's  Head  there  ? 
It's  a  terribly  low  place,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  It's  a  much  changed  if  it  ain't,  sir,"  said  Jim,  putting 
on  his  breeches.  "  I  was  in  there  not  eighteen  months 
since.  It's  a  fighting-house  ;  and  there  used  to  be  a  dog 
show  there,  and  a  reunion  of  vocal  talent,  and  all  sorts  of 
villanies." 

"  Well,  see  to  the  horse,  Jim,  and  I'll  sing  out  when  I'm 
ready,"  said  the  Major,  and  went  back  into  the  house. 

He  came  back  through  the  kitchen,  and  saw  that  Madge 
was  being  treated  by  the  maids  with  that  respect  that  a 
reputed  witch  never  fails  to  command  ;  then,  having  sat 
for  some  time  talking  to  his  wife  and  rinding  that  the 
storm  was  cleared  off,  he  kissed  his  sleeping  child  and  its 
mother,  and  mounting  his  horse  in  the  stable-yard,  rode 
off  towards  Exeter. 

In  the  morning,  when  Mrs.  Buckley  came  down  stairs, 
she  inquired  for  Madge.  They  told  her  she  had  been  up 
some  time,  and,  having  got  some  breakfast,  was  walking 
up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house.  Going  there,  Mrs. 
Buckley  found  her.  Her  dress  was  rearranged  with  pict- 
uresque neatness,  and  a  red  handkerchief  pinned  over  her 
rich  dark  hair,  that  last  night  had  streamed  wild  and  wet 
in  the  tempest.  Altogether,  she  looked  an  utterly  different 
being  from  the  strange,  storm-beaten  creature  who  had 
craved  their  hospitality  the  night  before.  Mrs.  Buckley 
admired  the  bold,  upright,  handsome  figure  before  her, 
and  gave  her  a  cheery  "  good-morning." 

"  I  only  stayed,"  said  Madge,  "  to  wish  you  good-bye, 
and  thank  you  for  your  kindness.  When  they  who  should 
have  had  some  pity  on  me  turned  me  out,  you  took  me  in  ! " 

"  You  are  heartily  welcome,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  Can- 
not I  do  more  for  you  ?  Do  you  want  money  ?  I  fear 
you  must !  " 

"  None,  I  thank  you  kindly,"  she  replied  ;  "  that  would 
break  the  spell.  Good-bye  !  " 

"  Good-bye  ! "  said  Mrs.  Buckley. 
146 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Madge  stood  in  front  of  the  door  and  raised  her  hand. 

"  The  blessing  of  God,"  she  said,  "shall  be  upon  the 
house  of  the  Buckleys,  and  more  especially  upon  you  and 
your  husband,  and  the  boy  that  is  sleeping  inside.  He 
shall  be  a  brave  and  a  good  man,  and  his  wife  shall  be 
the  fairest  and  best  in  the  country  side.  Your  kine  shall 
cover  the  plains  until  no  man  can  number  them,  and  your 
sheep  shall  be  like  the  sands  of  the  sea.  When  misfortune 
and  death  and  murder  fall  upon  your  neighbours,  you 
shall  stand  between  the  dead  and  the  living,  and  the 
troubles  that  pass  over  your  heads  shall  be  like  the  shadow 
of  the  light  clouds  that  fly  across  the  moor  on  a  sunny 
day.  And  when  in  your  ripe  and  honoured  old  age  you 
shall  sit  with  your  husband,  in  a  garden  of  your  own 
planting,  in  the  lands  far  away,  and  see  your  grand-chil- 
dren playing  around  you,  you  shall  think  of  the  words  of 
the  wild,  lost  gipsy  woman,  who  gave  you  her  best  bless- 
ing before  she  went  away  and  was  seen  no  more." 

Mrs.  Buckley  tried  to  say  "  Amen,"  but  found  herself 
crying.  Something  there  was  in  that  poor  creature,  home- 
less, penniless,  friendless,  that  made  her  heart  like  wax. 
She  watched  her  as  she  strode  down  the  path,  and  after- 
wards looked  for  her  re-appearing  on  a  high  exposed  part 
of  the  road,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  thinking  she  would 
take  that  way.  But  she  waited  long,  and  never  again  saw 
that  stern,  tall  figure,  save  in  her  dreams. 

She  turned  at  last,  and  one  of  the  maids  stood  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  missis,"  she  said,  "  you're  a  lucky  woman  to-day. 
There's  some  in  this  parish  would  have  paid  a  hundred 
pounds  for  such  a  fortune  as  that  from  her.  It'll  come 
true, — you  will  see  !  " 

"  I  hope  it  may,  you  silly  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley  ;  and 
then  she  went  in  and  knelt  beside  her  sleeping  boy,  and 
prayed  that  the  blessing  of  the  gipsy  woman  might  be 
fulfilled. 

*  *  *  *  * 

It  was  quite  late  on  the  evening  of  his  second  day's 
147 


The  Recollections  of 

journey  that  the  Major,  occupying  the  box-seat  of  the 
"  Exterminator,"  dashed  with  comet-like  speed  through  so 
much  of  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  this  wicked  world  as 
showed  itself  in  Piccadilly  at  half-past  seven  on  a  spring 
afternoon. 

"  Hah  !  "  he  soliloquised,  passing  Hyde-park  Corner, 
"  these  should  be  the  folks  going  out  to  dinner.  They 
dine  later  and  later  every  year.  At  this  rate  they'll  dine 
at  half-past  one  in  twenty  years'  time.  That's  the  Duke's 
new  house ;  eh,  coachman  ?  By  George  there's  his  Grace 
himself,  on  his  brown  cob  ;  God  bless  him  !  There  are  a 

pair  of  good-stepping  horses,  and  old  Lady  E behind 

'em,  by  Jove  ! — in  her  war-paint  and  feathers — pinker  than 
ever.  She  hasn't  got  tired  of  it  yet.  She'd  dance  at  her 
own  funeral  if  she  could.  And  there's  Charley  Bridge- 
north  in  the  club-balcony — I  wonder  what  he  finds  to  do 

in  peace  time  ? — and  old  B talking  to  him.  What 

does  Charley  mean  by  letting  himself  be  seen  in  the  same 
balcony  with  that  disreputable  old  fellow  ?  I  hope  he 
won't  get  his  morals  corrupted  !  Ah  !  So  here  we  are  ! 
eh  ?  " 

He  dismounted  at  the  White  Horse  Cellar,  and  took  a 
hasty  dinner.  His  great  object  was  speed ;  and  so  he 
hardly  allowed  himself  ten  minutes  to  finish  his  pint  of 
port  before  he  started  into  the  street,  to  pursue  the  errand 
on  which  he  had  come. 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock,  and  he  thought  he  would  be 
able  to  reach  his  destination  in  ten  minutes.  But  it  was 
otherwise  ordered.  His  evil  genius  took  him  down  St. 
James's  Street.  He  tried  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was 
the  shortest  way,  though  he  knew  all  the  time  that  it 
wasn't.  And  so  he  was  punished  in  this  way  :  he  had  got 
no  further  than  Crockford's,  when,  in  the  glare  of  light 
opposite  the  door  of  that  establishment,  he  saw  three  men 
standing,  one  of  whom  was  talking  and  laughing  in  a  tone 
perhaps  a  little  louder  than  it  is  customary  to  use  in  the 
streets  nowadays.  Buckley  knew  that  voice  well  (better, 
148 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

perhaps,  among  the  crackle  of  musketry  than  in  the  streets 
of  London),  and,  as  the  broad-shouldered  owner  of  it 
turned  his  jolly,  handsome  face  towards  him,  he  could  not 
suppress  a  low  laugh  of  satisfaction.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment the  before-mentioned  man  recognised  him,  and 
shouted  out  his  name. 

"  Busaco  Buckley,  by  the  Lord,"  he  said,  "  revisiting 
once  more  the  glimpses  of  the  gas  lamps  !  My  dear  old 
fellow,  how  are  you,  and  where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

The  Major  found  himself  quickly  placed  under  a  lamp 
for  inspection,  and  surrounded  by  three  old  and  well-be- 
loved fellow-campaigners.  What  could  a  man  do  under 
the  circumstances  ?  Nothing,  if  human  and  infallible,  I 
should  say,  but  what  the  Major  did — stay  there,  laughing 
and  joking,  and  talking  of  old  times,  and  freshen  up  his 
honest  heart,  and  shake  his  honest  sides  with  many  an  old 
half-forgotten  tale  of  fun  and  mischief. 

"  Now,"  he  said  at  last,  "  you  must  let  me  go.  You 
Barton  (to  the  first  man  he  recognised),  you  are  a  mar- 
ried man  ;  what  are  you  doing  at  Crockford's  ?  " 

"  The  same  as  you  are,"  said  the  other, — "  standing 
outside  the  door.  The  pavement's  free,  I  suppose.  I 
haven't  been  in  such  a  place  these  five  years.  Where  are 
you  staying,  old  boy  ?  " 

The  Major  told  them,  and  they  agreed  to  meet  at  break- 
fast next  morning.  Then,  after  many  farewells,  and  call- 
ing back,  he  pursued  his  way  towards  the  Strand,  finding 
to  his  disgust  that  it  was  nearly  ten  o'clock. 

He,  nevertheless,  held  on  his  way  undiscouraged,  and 
turning  by  degrees  into  narrower  and  narrower  streets, 
came  at  last  on  one  quieter  than  the  others,  which  ended 
abruptly  at  the  river. 

It  was  a  quiet  street,  save  at  one  point,  and  that  was 
where  a  blaze  of  gas  (then  recently  introduced,  and  a 
great  object  of  curiosity  to  the  Major)  was  thrown  across 
the  street,  from  the  broad  ornamented  windows  of  a  flash 
public-house.  Here  there  was  noise  enough.  Two  men 
149 


The  Recollections  of 

fighting,  and  three  or  four  more  encouraging,  while  a 
half-drunken  woman  tried  to  separate  them.  From  the 
inside,  too,  came  a  noise  of  singing,  quarrelling,  and 
swearing,  such  as  made  the  Major  cross  the  road,  and 
take  his  way  on  the  darker  side  of  the  street. 

But  when  he  got  opposite  the  aforesaid  public-house, 
he  saw  that  it  was  called  the  "  Nag's  Head,"  and  that  it 
was  kept  by  one  J.  Trotter.  "  What  an  awful  place  to 
take  that  girl  to  !  "  said  the  Major.  "  But  there  may  be 
some  private  entrance,  and  a  quiet  part  of  the  house  set 
by  for  a  hotel."  Nevertheless,  having  looked  well  about 
him,  he  could  see  nothing  of  the  sort,  and  perceived  that 
he  must  storm  the  bar. 

But  he  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment.  It  looked  such 
a  very  low  place,  clean  and  handsome  enough,  but  stili 
the  company  about  the  door  looked  so  very  disreputable. 
"  J.  Trotter  !  "  he  reflected.  "  Why,  that  must  be  Trotter 
the  fighting-man.  I  hope  it  may  be;  he  will  remember 
me." 

So  he  crossed.  When  he  came  within  the  sphere  of  the 
gas  lamps,  those  who  were  assisting  at  the  fight  grew 
silent,  and  gazed  upon  him  with  open  eyes.  As  he  reached 
the  door  one  of  them  remarked,  with  a  little  flourish  of 
oaths  as  a  margin  or  garland  round  his  remark,  that  "  off 
all  the  swells  he'd  ever  seen,  that  'un  was  the  biggest,  at 
all  events." 

Similarly,  when  they  in  the  bar  saw  that  giant  form, 
the  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  and,  above  all,  the  mous- 
tache (sure  sign  of  a  military  man  in  those  days),  conver- 
sation ceased,  and  the  Major  then  and  there  became  the 
event  of  the  evening.  He  looked  round  as  he  came  in, 
and,  through  a  door  leading  inwards,  he  saw  George 
Hawker  himself,  standing  talking  to  a  man  with  a  dog 
under  each  arm. 

The  Major  was  not  deceived  as  to  the  identity  of  J. 
Trotter.  J.  Trotter,  the  hero  of  a  hundred  fights,  stood 
himself  behind  his  own  bar,  a  spectacle  for  the  gods.  A 
150 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

chest  like  a  bull,  a  red  neck,  straight  up  and  down  with 
the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  fist  like  a  seal's  flipper,  pro- 
claimed him  the  prize-fighter ;  and  his  bright  grey  eye, 
and  ugly  laughing  face,  proclaimed  him  the  merry,  good- 
humoured  varlet  that  he  was. 

What  a  wild  state  of  amazement  he  was  in  when  he 
realized  the  fact  that  Major  Buckley  of  the  — th  was  act- 
ually towering  aloft  under  the  chandelier,  and  looking 
round  for  some  one  to  address  !  With  what  elephantine 
politeness  and  respect  did  he  show  the  Major  into  a  pri- 
vate parlour,  sweeping  off  at  one  round  nearly  a  dozen 
pint-pots  that  covered  the  table,  and  then,  shutting  the 
door,  stand  bowing  and  smiling  before  his  old  pupil ! 

"  And  so  you  are  gone  into  business,  John,  are  you  ?  " 
said  the  Major.  "  I'm  glad  to  see  it.  I  hope  you  are  do- 
ing as  well  as  you  deserve." 

"  Much  better  than  that,"  said  the  prize-fighter.  "  Much 
better  than  that,  sir,  I  assure  you." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  get  you  to  do  something  for  me," 
said  the  Major.  "  Do  you  know,  John,  that  you  are  ter- 
ribly fat  ?  " 

"  The  business  allus  does  make  flesh,  sir.  More  es- 
pecially to  coves  as  has  trained  much." 

"  Yes,  yes,  John,  I  am  going  from  the  point.  There  is 
a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Hawker  here  ?  " 

The  prize-fighter  remained  silent,  but  a  grin  gathered  on 
his  face.  "  I  never  contradicts  a  gentleman,"  he  said. 
"  And  if  you  say  he's  here,  why,  in  course,  he  is  here. 
But  I  don't  say  he's  here  ;  you  mind  that,  sir." 

"  My  good  fellow,  I  saw  him  as  I  came  in,"  said  the 
Major. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  the  other  \  "  then  that  absolves  me 
from  any  responsibility.  He  told  me  to  deny  him  to  any- 
body but  one,  and  you  ain't  she.  He  spends  a  deal  of 
money  with  me,  sir  ;  so,  in  course,  I  don't  want  to  offend 
him.  By-the-bye,  sir,  excuse  me  a  moment." 

.The  Major  saw  that  he  had  got  hold  of  the  right  man, 


The  Recollections  of 

and  waited  willingly.  The  fighting-man  went  to  the  door, 
and  called  out,  "  My  dear."  A  tall,  good-looking  woman 
came  to  the  bar,  who  made  a  low  curtsey  on  being  pre- 
sented to  the  Major.  "  My  dear,"  repeated  Trotter,  "  the 
south  side."  "  The  particular,  I  suppose,"  she  said.  "  In 
course,"  said  he.  So  she  soon  appeared  with  a  bottle  of 
Madeira,  which  was  of  such  quality  that  the  Major,  having 
tasted  it,  winked  at  the  prize-fighter,  and  the  latter  laughed, 
and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Now,"  said  the  Major,  "  do  you  mind  telling  me 
whether  this  Hawker  is  here  alone  ?  " 

"  He  don't  live  here.  He  only  comes  here  of  a  day,  and 
sometimes  stays  till  late.  This  evening  a  pretty  young 
lady — yes,  a  lady — come  and  inquired  for  him  in  my  bar, 
and  I  was  struck  all  of  a  heap  to  see  such  a  creature  in 
such  a  place,  all  frightened  out  of  her  wits.  So  I  showed 
her  through  in  a  minute,  and  up  stairs  to  where  my  wife 
sits,  and  she  waited  there  till  he  come  in.  And  she  hadn't 
been  gone  ten  minutes  when  you  come." 

The  Major  swore  aloud,  without  equivocation  or  dis- 
guise. "  Ah,"  he  said,  "  If  I  had  not  met  Barton  !  Pray, 
Trotter,  have  you  any  idea  where  Hawker  lives  ?  " 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,  further  than  it's  somewhere 
Hampstead  way.  That's  a  thing  he  evidently  don't  want 
known." 

"  Do  you  think  it  likely  that  he  and  that  young  lady 
live  in  the  same  house  ?  I  need  not  disguise  from  you 
that  I  am  come  after  her,  to  endeavour  to  get  her  back  to 
her  family." 

"  I  know  they  don't  live  in  the  same  house,"  said  Trotter, 
"  because  I  heard  her  say  to-night,  before  she  went  away, 
'  Do  look  round,  George,'  she  says,  '  at  my  house  for  ten 
minutes,  before  you  go  home.'  " 

"  You  have  done  me  a  great  kindness,"  said  the  Major, 
"  in  what  you  have  told  me.  I  don't  know  how  to  thank 
you." 

"  It's  only  one,"  said  the  prize-fighter,  "  in  return  for  a 
152 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

many  you  done  me  ;  and  you  are  welcome  to  it,  sir.  Now, 
I  expect  you'd  like  to  see  this  young  gent ;  so  follow  me 
if  you  please." 

Through  many  passages,  past  many  doors,  he  followed 
him,  until  they  left  the  noise  of  the  revelry  behind,  and  at 
last,  at  the  end  of  a  long  dark  passage,  the  prize-fighter 
suddenly  threw  open  a  door,  and  announced — "  Major 
Buckley !  " 

There  were  four  men  playing  at  cards,  and  the  one  op- 
posite to  him  was  George  Hawker.  The  Major  saw  at  a 
glance,  almost  before  any  one  had  time  to  speak,  that 
George  was  losing  money,  and  that  the  other  three  were 
confederates. 

The  prize-fighter  went  up  to  the  table  and  seized  the 
cards  ;  then,  after  a  momentary  examination,  threw  both 
packs  in  the  fire. 

"  When  gents  play  cards  in  my  house,  I  expect  them  to 
use  the  cards  I  provides  at  the  bar,  and  not  private  packs, 
whether  marked  or  not.  Mr.  Hawker,  I  warned  you  be- 
fore about  this ;  you'll  lose  every  sixpence  you're  worth, 
and  then  you  will  say  it  was  done  at  my  house,  quite  for- 
getting to  mention  that  I  warned  you  of  it  repeatedly." 

But  George  took  no  notice  of  him.  "  Really,  Major 
Buckley,"  he  began,  "  this  is  rather — " 

"  Rather  an  intrusion,  you  would  say — eh,  Mr.  Hawker  ?  " 
said  the  Major  ;  "  so  it  is,  but  the  urgency  of  my  business 
must  be  my  apology.  Can  you  give  me  a  few  words  alone  ?  " 

George  rose  and  came  out  with  them.  The  prize-fighter 
showed  them  into  another  room,  and  the  Major  asked  him 
to  stand  in  the  passage,  and  see  that  no  one  was  listening ; 
"  you  see,  John,"  he  added,  "  we  are  very  anxious  not  to 
be  overheard." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  particular  myself,"  said  George  Hawker. 
"  I  have  nothing  to  conceal." 

"  You  will  alter  your  mind  before  I  have  done,  sir,"  said 
the  Major. 

George  didn't  like  the  look  of  affairs. — How  came  it  that 

153 


The  Recollections  of 

the  Major  and  the  prize-fighter  knew  one  another  so  well  ? 
What  did  the  former  mean  by  all  this  secrecy  ?  He  de- 
termined to  put  a  bold  face  on  the  matter. 

"  Miss  Thornton  is  living  with  you,  sir,  I  believe  ?  "  be- 
gan the  Major. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir ;  Miss  Thornton  is  in  lodgings  of  her 
own.  I  have  the  privilege  of  seeing  her  for  a  few  hours 
every  day.  In  fact,  I  may  go  as  far  as  to  say  that  I  am 
engaged  to  be  married  to  her,  and  that  that  auspicious 
event  is  to  come  off  on  Thursday  week." 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  favour  me  with  her  direction  ?  "  said 
the  Major. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disoblige  you,  Major  Buckley,  but  I 
must  really  decline  ; "  answered  George.  "  I  am  not  un- 
aware how  disinclined  her  family  are  to  the  connexion  ; 
and,  as  I  cannot  but  believe  that  you  come  on  their  be- 
half, I  cannot  think  that  an  interview  would  be  any  thing 
but  prejudicial  to  my  interest.  I  must  remind  you,  too, 
that  Miss  Thornton  is  of  age,  and  her  own  mistress  in 
every  way." 

While  George  had  been  speaking,  it  passed  through  the 
Major's  mind  :  "  What  a  checkmate  it  would  be,  if  I  were 
to  withhold  the  information  I  have,  and  set  the  runners  on 
him,  here !  I  might  save  the  girl,  and  further  the  ends 
of  justice ;  but  my  hands  are  tied  by  the  promise  I  gave 
that  woman, — how  unfortunate  !  " 

"  Then,  Mr.  Hawker,"  he  said  aloud,  "  I  am  to  under- 
stand that  you  refuse  me  this  address  ?  " 

"  I  am  necessitated  to  refuse  it  most  positively,  sir." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  leave  it  to  your  conscience.  Now, 
I  have  got  a  piece  of  intelligence  to  give  you,  which  I  fear 
will  be  somewhat  unpalatable — I  got  your  address  at  this 
place  from  a  woman  of  the  name  of  Madge — " 

"  You  did  !  "  exclaimed  George. 

"  Who  was  turned  out  of  doors  by  your  father,  the  night 
before  last,  in  consequence,  I  understood,  of  some  mis- 
deeds of  hers  having  come  to  light.  She  came  imme- 

i54 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

diately  to  my  house,  and  offered  to  give  me  your  direc- 
tion, on  condition  of  my  passing  my  word  of  honour  to 
deliver  you  this  message  :  '  that  the  forgery  (^500  was  the 
sum  mentioned,  I  think)  was  discovered,  and  that  the 
Bank  was  going  to  prosecute.'  I  of  course  form  no  judg- 
ment as  to  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  this :  I  leave  you  to 
take  your  own  measures  about  it — only  I  once  again  ask 
you  whether  you  will  give  me  an  interview  with  Miss 
Thornton  ?  " 

George  had  courage  enough  left  to  say  hoarsely  and 
firmly,  "  No  !  " 

"  Then,"  replied  the  Major,  "  I  must  call  you  to  witness 
that  I  have  performed  my  errand  to  you  faithfully.  I  beg, 
also,  that  you  will  carry  all  our  kindest  remembrances  to 
Miss  Thornton,  and  tell  her  that  her  poor  father  was 
struck  with  paralysis  when  he  missed  her,  and  that  he  is 
not  expected  to  live  many  weeks.  And  I  wish  you  good 
night." 

He  passed  out,  and  down  the  stairs ;  as  he  passed  the 
public  parlour-door,  he  heard  a  man  bawling  out  a  song, 
two  or  three  lines  of  which  he  heard,  and  which  made  him 
blush  to  the  tips  of  his  ears,  old  soldier  as  he  was. 

As  he  walked  up  the  street,  he  soliloquised  :  "A  pretty 
mess  I've  made  of  it — done  him  all  the  service  I  could, 
and  not  helped  her  a  bit — I  see  there  is  no  chance  of  see- 
ing her,  though  I  shall  try.  I  will  go  round  Hampstead 
to-morrow,  though  that  is  a  poor  chance.  In  Paris,  now, 
or  Vienna,  one  could  find  her  directly.  What  a  pity  we 
have  no  police  !  " 


155 


The  Recollections  of 

Chapter  XV 
The  Brighton  Races,  and  what  happened  thereat 

GEORGE  HAWKER  just  waited  till  he  heard  the  retiring 
footsteps  of  the  Major,  and  then,  leaving  the  house  held 
his  way  rapidly  towards  Mary's  lodgings,  which  were  in 
Hampstead  ;  but  finding  he  would  be  too  late  to  gain  ad- 
mittance, altered  his  course  when  he  was  close  to  the  house, 
and  went  to  his  own  house,  which  was  not  more  than  a 
few  hundred  yards  distant.  In  the  morning  he  went  to 
her,  and  she  ran  down  the  garden  to  meet  him  before  the 
servant  had  time  to  open  the  door,  looking  so  pretty  and 
bright.  "  Ah,  George  !  "  said  she,  "  you  never  came  last 
night,  after  all  your  promises.  I  shall  be  glad  when  it's 
all  over,  George,  and  we  are  together  for  good." 

"  It  won't  be  long,  first,  my  dear,"  he  answered ;  "  we 
must  manage  to  get  through  that  time  as  well  as  we  can, 
and  then  we'll  begin  to  sound  the  old  folks.  You  see  I 
am  come  to  breakfast." 

"  I  expected  you,"  she  said ;  "  come  in  and  we  will 
have  such  a  pleasant  chat,  and  after  that  you  must  take 
me  down  the  town,  George,  and  we  will  see  the  carri- 
ages." 

"  Now,  my  love,"  said  George ;  "  I've  got  to  tell  you 
something  that  will  vex  you  ;  but  you  must  not  be  down- 
hearted about  it,  you  know.  The  fact  is,  that  your  friends, 
as  they  call  themselves,  moving  heaven  and  earth  to  get 
you  back,  by  getting  me  out  of  the  way,  have  hit  on  the 
expedient  of  spreading  false  reports  about  me,  and  issuing 
scandals  against  me.  They  found  out  my  address  at  the 
Nag's  Head,  and  came  there  after  me  not  half  an  hour 
after  you  were  gone,  and  I  only  got  out  of  their  way  by 
good  luck.  You  ought  to  give  me  credit  for  not  giving 
any  living  soul  the  secret  of  our  whereabouts,  so  that  all  I 
have  got  to  do  is  to  keep  quiet  here  until  our  little  business 
156 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

is  settled,  and  then  I  shall  be  able  to  face  them  boldly 
again,  and  set  everything  straight." 

"  How  cruel !  "  she  said  ;  "  how  unjust !  I  will  never 
believe  anything  against  you,  George." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,  my  darling  ;  "  he  said,  kissing  her. 
"  But  now,  there  is  another  matter  I  must  speak  about, 
though  I  don't  like  to, — I  am  getting  short  of  money, 
love." 

"  I  have  got  nearly  a  hundred  pounds,  George,"  she 
said  ;  "  and,  as  I  told  you,  I  have  five  thousand  pounds  in 
the  funds,  which  I  can  sell  out  at  any  time  I  like." 

"  We  shall  do  well,  then,  my  Polly.  Now  let  us  go  for 
a  walk." 

All  that  week  George  stayed  with  her  quietly,  till  the 
time  of  residence  necessary  before  they  could  be  married 
was  expired.  He  knew  that  he  was  treading  on  a  mine, 
which  at  any  time  might  burst  and  blow  his  clumsy 
schemes  to  the  wind.  But  circumstances  were  in  his  fa- 
vour, and  the  time  came  to  an  end  at  last.  He  drank 
hard  all  the  time  without  letting  Mary  suspect  it,  but  after- 
wards, when  it  was  all  over,  wondered  at  his  nerve  and 
self-possession  through  all  those  trying  days,  when  he 
was  forced  eternally  to  have  a  smile  or  a  laugh  ready,  and 
could  not  hear  a  step  behind  him  without  thinking  of  an 
officer,  or  look  over  his  head  without  thinking  he  saw  a 
gallows  in  the  air. 

It  was  during  this  time  that  he  nursed  in  his  heart  a 
feeling  of  desperate  hatred  and  revenge  against  William 
Lee,  which  almost  became  the  leading  passion  of  his  life. 
He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  that  this  man  was  the  author 
of  all  the  troubles  that  were  gathering  so  thick  around  his 
head,  and  vowed,  if  chance  threw  the  man  in  his  way 
again,  that  he  would  take  ample  and  fearful  vengeance, 
let  it  cost  what  it  might.  And  though  this  feeling  may 
have  sometimes  grown  cold,  yet  he  never,  (as  we  shall 
see),  to  the  last  day  forgot  or  forgave  the  injuries  this 
man  had  done  him. 

157 


The  Recollections  of 

Mary  was  as  innocent  of  business  as  a  child,  and  George 
found  little  difficulty  in  persuading  her,  that  the  best  thing 
she  could  do  under  present  circumstances,  was  to  sell  out 
the  money  she  had  in  the  funds,  and  place  it  in  a  bank,  to 
be  drawn  on  as  occasion  should  require  ;  saying  that  they 
should  be  so  long  perhaps,  before  they  had  any  other  fund 
to  depend  on,  that  they  might  find  it  necessary  to  under- 
take some  business  for  a  living,  in  which  case,  it  would  be 
as  well  to  have  their  money  under  command  at  a  moment's 
notice. 

There  was,  not  far  from  the  bank,  an  old  Stock-broker, 
who  had  known  her  father  and  herself  for  many  years, 
and  was  well  acquainted  with  all  their  affairs,  though  they 
had  but  little  intercourse  by  letter.  To  him  she  repaired, 
and,  merely  informing  him  that  she  was  going  to  marry 
without  her  father's  consent,  begged  him  to  manage  the 
business  for  her ;  which  he,  complimenting  her  upon  her 
good  fortune  in  choosing  a  time  when  the  funds  were  so 
high,  immediately  undertook ;  at  the  same  time  recom- 
mended her  to  a  banker,  where  she  might  open  an  ac- 
count. 

On  the  same  day  that  this  business  was  concluded,  a 
licence  was  procured,  and  their  wedding  fixed  for  the  next 
day.  "  Now,"  thought  George,  as  he  leapt  into  bed  on 
that  night,  "  let  only  to-morrow  get  over  safely,  and  I  can 
begin  to  see  my  way  out  of  the  wood  again." 

And  in  the  morning  they  were  married  in  Hampstead 
church.  Parson,  clerk,  pew-opener,  and  beadle,  all  re- 
marked what  a  handsome  young  couple  they  were,  and  how 
happy  they  ought  to  be ;  and  the  parson  departed,  and  the 
beadle  shut  up  the  church,  and  the  mice  came  out  again, 
and  ate  the  Bibles,  and  the  happy  pair  walked  away  down 
the  road,  bound  together  by  a  strong  chain,  which  nothing 
could  loose  but  death.  They  went  to  Brighton.  Mary  had 
said  she  would  so  like  to  see  the  sea ;  and  the  morning 
after  they  arrived  there — the  morning  after  their  wedding 
— Mary  wrote  an  affectionate  penitential  letter  to  her 

158 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

father,  telling  him  that  she  was  married,  and  praying 
his  forgiveness. 

They  were  quite  gay  at  Brighton,  and  she  recovered  her 
spirits  wonderfully  at  first.  George  soon  made  acquaint- 
ances, who  soon  got  very  familiar,  after  the  manner  of  their 
kind, — greasy,  tawdry,  bedizened  bucks, — never  asleep, 
always  proposing  a  game  of  cards,  always  carrying  off  her 
husband.  Mary  hated  them,  while  she  was  at  times  proud 
to  see  her  husband  in  such  fine  company. 

Such  were  the  eagles  that  gathered  round  the  carcass  of 
George  Hawker  ;  and  at  last  these  eagles  began  to  bring 
the  hen-birds  with  them,  who  frightened  our  poor  little 
dove  with  the  amplitude  and  splendour  of  their  feathers, 
and  their  harsh,  strange  notes.  George  knew  the  charac- 
ter of  those  women  well  enough  ;  but  already  he  cared  lit- 
tle enough  about  his  wife,  even  before  they  had  been  a 
month  married,  going  on  the  principle  that  the  sooner  she 
learned  to  take  care  of  herself,  the  better  for  her ;  and 
after  they  had  been  married  little  more  than  a  month, 
Mary  thought  she  began  to  see  a  change  in  her  husband's 
behaviour  to  her. 

He  grew  sullen  and  morose,  even  to  her.  Every  day 
almost  he  would  come  to  her  with  a  scowl  upon  his  face  ; 
and  when  she  asked  if  he  was  angry  with  her,  would  say, 
"  No,  that  he  wasn't  angry  with  her  ;  but  that  things  were 
going  wrong — altogether  wrong ;  and  if  they  didn't  mend, 
he  couldn't  see  his  way  out  of  it  at  all." 

But  one  night  he  came  home  cheerful  and  hilarious, 
though  rather  the  worse  for  liquor.  He  showed  her  a  roll 
of  notes  which  he  had  won  at  roulette — over  a  hundred 
pounds — and  added,  "  That  shall  be  the  game  for  me  in 
future,  Polly  ;  all  square  and  above  board  there." 

"  My  dear  George,  I  wish  you'd  give  up  gambling." 

"  So  I  will,  some  of  these  fine  days,  my  dear.  I  only  do 
it  to  pass  the  time.  It's  cursed  dull  having  nothing  to  do." 

"  To-morrow  is  the  great  day  at  the  races,  George.  I 
wish  you  would  take  me  ;  I  never  saw  a  horse-race." 

159 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  he  ;  "  we'll  go,  and,  what's  more, 
we'll  go  alone.  I  won't  have  you  seen  in  public  with  those 
dowdy  drabs." 

So  they  went  alone.  Such  a  glorious  day  as  it  was — 
the  last  happy  day  they  spent  for  very  long !  How  delight- 
ful it  was,  all  this  rush  and  crush,  and  shouting  and  hub- 
bub around,  while  you  were  seated  in  a  phaeton,  secure 
above  the  turmoil !  What  delight  to  see  all  the  beautiful 
women  in  the  carriages,  and,  grandest  sight  of  all,  which 
struck  awe  and  admiration  into  Mary's  heart,  was  the 
great  Prince  himself,  that  noble  gentleman,  in  a  gutter- 
sided  hat,  and  a  wig  so  fearfully  natural  that  Mary  secretly 
longed  to  pull  his  hair. 

But  princes  and  duchesses  were  alike  forgotten  when 
the  course  was  cleared  for  the  great  event  of  the  day,  and, 
one  by  one,  the  sleek  beauties  came  floating  along,  above 
the  crowd,  towards  the  starting-post.  Then  George,  leav- 
ing Mary  in  the  phaeton  to  the  care  of  their  landlady, 
pushed  his  way  among  the  crowd,  and,  by  dint  of  hard 
squeezing,  got  against  the  rail.  He  had  never  seen  such 
horses  as  these ;  he  had  never  known  what  first-class 
horse-racing  was.  Here  was  a  new  passion  for  him, 
which,  like  all  his  others,  should  only  by  its  perversion 
end  in  his  ruin. 

He  had  got  some  money  on  one  of  the  horses,  though 
he,  of  course,  had  never  seen  it.  There  was  a  cheer  all 
along  the  line,  and  a  dark  bay  fled  past  towards  the  start- 
ing-post, seeming  rather  to  belong  to  the  air  than  the 
ground.  "  By  George,"  he  said,  aloud,  as  the  blood 
mounted  to  his  face,  and  tingled  in  his  ears,  "  I  never  saw 
such  a  sight  as  that  before." 

He  was  ashamed  of  having  spoken  aloud  in  his  excite- 
ment, but  a  groom  who  stood  by  said,  for  his  consola- 
tion,— 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  did,  sir,  nor  no  man  else. 
That's  young  Velocipede,  and  that's  Chiffney  a-ridin'  him. 
You'll  see  that  horse  walk  over  for  everything  next  year." 
160 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

But  now  the  horses  came  down,  five  of  them  abreast,  at 
a  walk,  amid  a  dead  silence  from  the  crowd,  three  of  them 
steady  old  stagers,  but  two  jumping  and  pulling.  "  Back, 
Velocipede  ;  back,  Lara ! "  says  the  starter ;  down  goes 
the  flag,  they  dart  away,  and  then  there  is  a  low  hum  of 
conversation,  until  a  murmur  is  heard  down  the  course, 
which  swells  into  a  roar  as  you  notice  it.  The  horses  are 
coming.  One  of  the  royal  huntsmen  gallops  by,  and  then, 
as  the  noise  comes  up  towards  you,  you  can  hear  the  mad- 
dening rush  of  the  horses'  feet  upon  the  turf,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  bay  and  a  chestnut  rush  past  in  the  last  fierce 
struggle,  and  no  man  knows  yet  who  has  won. 

Then  the  crowd  poured  once  more  over  the  turf,  and 
surged  and  cheered  round  the  winning  horses.  Soon  it 
came  out  that  Velocipede  had  won,  and  George,  turn- 
ing round  delighted,  stood  face  to  face  with  a  gipsy 
woman. 

She  had  her  hood  low  on  her  head,  so  that  he  could  not 
see  her  face,  but  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  Let  me  tell 
your  fortune." 

"  It  is  told  already,  mother,"  said  George.  "  Velocipede 
has  won ;  you  won't  tell  me  any  better  news  than  that  this 
day,  I  know." 

"  No,  George  Hawker,  I  shan't,"  replied  the  gipsy,  and, 
raising  her  hood  for  an  instant,  he  discovered  to  his  utter 
amazement  the  familiar  countenance  of  Madge. 

"  Will  you  let  me  tell  your  fortune  now,  my  boy?  "  she 
said. 

"  What,  Madge,  old  girl !  By  Jove,  you  shall.  Well, 
who'd  a'  thought  of  seeing  you  here  ?  " 

"  I've  been  following  you,  and  looking  for  you  ever  so 
long,"  she  said.  "  They  at  the  Nag's  Head  didn't  know 
where  you  were  gone,  and  if  I  hadn't  been  a  gipsy,  and  o' 
good  family,  I'd  never  have  found  you." 

"  You're  a  good  old  woman,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose 
you've  some  news  for  me  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  she  answered  ;  "  come  away  after  me." 
161 


The  Recollections  of 

He  followed  her  into  a  booth,  and  they  sat  down.  She 
began  the  conversation. 

"  Are  you  married  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Ay ;  a  month  since." 

"  And  you've  got  her  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I've  been  walking  into  it." 

"  Make  the  most  of  it,"  said  Madge.  "  Your  father's 
dead." 

"  Dead !  " 

"  Ay,  dead.  And  what's  worse,  lad,  he  lived  long 
enough  to  alter  his  will." 

"  Oh,  Lord  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  he  has  left  all  his  money  to 
your  cousin.  He  found  out  everything,  all  in  a  minute,  as 
it  were ;  and  he  brought  a  new  will  home  from  Exeter, 
and  I  witnessed  it.  And  he  turned  me  out  of  doors,  and, 
next  morning,  after  I  was  gone,  he  was  found  dead  in  his 
bed.  I  got  to  London,  and  found  no  trace  of  you  there, 
till,  by  an  accident,  I  heard  that  you  had  been  seen  down 
here,  so  I  came  on.  I've  got  my  living  by  casting  fortins, 
and  begging,  and  cadging,  and  such  like.  Sometime  I've 
slept  in  a  barn,  and  sometime  in  a  hedge,  but  I've  fought 
my  way  to  you,  true  and  faithful,  through  it  all,  you 
see." 

"  So  he's  gone,"  said  George,  between  his  teeth,  "  and 
his  money  with  him.  That's  awful.  What  an  unnatural 
old  villain  ! " 

"  He  got  it  into  his  head  at  last,  George,  that  you 
weren't  his  son  at  all." 

"  The  lunatic  ! — and  what  put  that  into  his  head  ?  " 

"  He  knew  you  weren't  his  wife's  son,  you  see,  and  he 
had  heard  some  stories  about  me  before  I  came  to  live 
with  him,  and  so,  at  the  last,  he  took  to  saying  he'd 
nought  to  do  with  you." 

"  Then  you  mean  to  say " 

"  That  you  are  my  boy,"  she  said,  "  my  own  boy. 
Why,  lad,  who  but  thy  own  mother  would  a'  done  for 
162 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

thee  what  I  have  ?     And  thou  never  thinking  of  it  all 
these  years  !     Blind  lad  !  " 

"  Good  God !  "  said  George.  "  And  if  I  had  only 
known  that  before,  how  differently  I'd  have  gone  on. 
How  I'd  have  sneaked  and  truckled,  and  fetched  and 
carried  for  him  !  Bah,  it's  enough  to  drive  one  mad.  All 
this  hide-and-seek  work  don't  pay,  old  woman.  You  and 
I  are  bowled  out  with  it.  How  easy  for  you  to  have  given 
me  a  hint  of  this  years  ago,  to  make  me  careful !  But  you 
delight  in  mistery  and  conglomeration,  and  you  always 
will.  There — I  ain't  ungrateful,  but  when  I  think  of  what 
we've  lost,  no  wonder  I  get  wild.  And  what  the  devil  am 
I  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  You've  got  the  girl's  money  to  go  on  with,"  she  said. 

"  Not  so  very  much  of  it,"  he  replied.  "  I  tell  you  I've 
been  playing  like — never  mind  what,  this  last  month,  and 
I've  lost  every  night.  Then  I've  got  another  woman  in 
tow,  that  costs — oh  curse  her,  what  don't  she  cost,  what 
with  money  and  bother  ? — In  short,  if  I  don't  get  some- 
thing from  somewhere,  in  a  few  months  I  shall  be  in 
Queer  Street.  What  chance  is  there  of  the  parson's  dy- 
ing ?  " 

"  It  don't  matter  much  to  you  when  he  dies,  I  expect," 
said  she,  "  for  you  may  depend  that  those  that's  got  hold 
of  him  won't  let  his  money  come  into  your  hands.  He's 
altered  his  will,  you  may  depend  on  it." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  more  probable  than  not.  You  see 
that  old  matter  with  the  Bank  is  known  all  over  the  coun- 
try, although  they  don't  seem  inclined  to  push  it  against 
you,  for  some  reason.  Yet  it's  hardly  likely  that  the  Vicar 
would  let  his  money  go  to  a  man  who  couldn't  be  seen 
for  fear  of  a  rope." 

"  You're  a  raven,  old  woman,"  he  said.  "  What  am  I 
to  do  ?  " 

"  Give  up  play,  to  begin  with." 

"  Well  ?  " 

163 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Start  some  business  with  what's  left." 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Well,  I'll  think  of  it.  You  must  want  some 
money,  old  girl !  Here's  a  fipunnote." 

"  I  don't  want  money,  my  boy  ;  I'm  all  right,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  nonsense  ;  take  it." 

"  I  won't,"  she  answered.     "  Give  me  a  kiss,  George." 

He  kissed  her  forehead,  and  bent  down  his  head  re- 
flecting. When  he  looked  up  she  was  gone. 

He  ran  out  of  the  booth  and  looked  right  and  left,  but 
saw  her  nowhere.  Then  he  went  sulkily  back  to  his  wife. 
He  hardly  noticed  her,  but  said  it  was  time  to  go  home. 
All  the  way  back,  and  after  they  had  reached  their  lodg- 
ings, he  kept  the  same  moody  silence,  and  she,  frightened 
at  some  unheard-of  calamity,  forbore  to  question  him. 
But  when  she  was  going  to  bed  she  could  withhold  her 
anxiety  no  longer,  and  said  to  him, — 

"  Oh,  George,  you  have  got  some  bad  news ;  let  me 
share  it  with  you.  If  it  is  anything  about  my  father,  I 
implore  you  to  tell  me.  How  is  it  I  have  got  no  answer 
to  the  letter  I  wrote  a  month  ago  ?  " 

He  answered  her  savagely,  "  I  don't  know  anything 
about  your  father,  and  I  don't  care.  I've  got  bad  news, 
d — d  bad  news,  if  that  will  make  you  sleep  the  sounder. 
And,  once  for  all,  you'll  find  it  best,  when  you  see  me 
sulky,  not  to  give  me  any  of  your  tantrums  in  addition. 
Mind  that." 

He  had  never  spoken  to  her  like  that  before.  She  went 
to  her  bed  crushed  and  miserable,  and  spent  the  night  in 
crying,  while  he  went  forth  and  spent  the  night  with  some 
of  his  new  companions,  playing  wildly  and  losing  reck- 
lessly, till  the  summer  morning  sun  streamed  through  the 
shutters,  and  shone  upon  him  desperate  and  nigh  penni- 
less, ripe  for  a  fall  lower  than  any  he  had  had  as  yet. 


164 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 
Chapter  XVI 

The  End  of  Mary's  Expedition 

LET  us  hurry  over  what  is  to  follow.  I  who  knew  her 
so  well  can  have  no  pleasure  in  dwelling  over  her  misery 
and  degradation.  And  he  who  reads  these  pages  will,  I 
hope,  have  little  sympathy  with  the  minor  details  of  the 
life  of  such  a  man  as  George  Hawker. 

Some  may  think  that  she  has  been  punished  enough  al- 
ready, for  leaving  her  quiet  happy  home  to  go  away  with 
such  a  man.  "  She  must  have  learnt  already,"  such  would 
say,  "  that  he  cares  nothing  for  her.  Let  her  leave  her 
money  behind,  and  go  back  to  her  father  to  make  such 
amends  as  she  may  for  the  misery  she  has  caused  him." 
Alas,  my  dear  madam,  who  would  rejoice  in  such  a  ter- 
mination of  her  troubles  more  than  myself  ?  But  it  is  not 
for  me  to  mete  out  degrees  of  punishment.  I  am  trying 
with  the  best  of  my  poor  abilities  to  write  a  true  history 
of  certain  people  whom  I  knew.  And  I,  no  more  than 
any  other  human  creature,  can  see  the  consequences  that 
will  follow  on  any  one  act  of  folly  or  selfishness,  such  as 
this  poor  foolish  girl  has  committed.  We  must  wait  and 
watch,  judging  with  all  charity.  Let  you  and  me  go  on 
with  her  even  to  the  very  end. 

Good  men  draw  together  very  slowly.  Yet  it  is  one  of 
the  greatest  happinesses  one  is  capable  of,  to  introduce 
two  such  to  one  another,  and  see  how  soon  they  become 
friends.  But  bad  men  congregate  like  crows  or  jackals, 
and  when  a  new  one  appears,  he  is  received  into  the  pack 
without  question,  as  soon  as  he  has  given  proof  sufficient 
of  being  a  rascal. 

This  was  the  case  with  George  Hawker.     His  facility 

for  making  acquaintance  with  rogues  and  blacklegs  was 

perfectly  marvellous.     Any  gentleman  of  this  class  seemed 

to  recognise  him  instinctively,  and  became  familiar  im- 

165 


The  Recollections  of 

mediately.  So  that  soon  he  had  round  him  such  a  circle 
of  friends  as  would  have  gone  hard  to  send  to  the  dogs 
the  most  honourable  and  virtuous  young  man  in  the  three 
kingdoms. 

When  a  new  boy  goes  to  school,  his  way  is  smoothed 
very  much  at  first  by  the  cakes  and  pocket-money  he 
brings  with  him.  Till  these  are  gone  he  must  be  a  weak 
boy  indeed  who  cannot  (at  a  small  school)  find  some  one 
to  fight  his  battles  and  fetch  and  carry  for  him.  Thacke- 
ray has  thought  of  this  (what  does  he  not  think  of?)  in 
his  little  book,  "  Dr.  Birch,"  where  a  young  sycophant  is 
represented  saying  to  his  friend,  who  has  just  received  a 
hamper,  "  Hurrah,  old  fellow,  /'//  lend  you  my  knife." 
This  was  considered  so  true  to  nature,  on  board  a  ship  in 
which  I  once  made  a  long  voyage,  that  it  passed  into  a 
proverb  with  us,  and  if  any  one  was  seen  indulging  in  a 
luxury  out  of  the  way  at  dinner, — say  an  extra  bottle  of 
wine  out  of  his  private  store, — half-a-dozen  would  cry  out 
at  once,  "  Hurrah,  old  fellow,  I'll  lend  you  my  knife  :  "  a 
modest  way  of  requesting  to  be  asked  to  take  a  glass  of 
wine  better  than  that  supplied  by  the  steward. 

In  the  same  way,  George  Hawker  was  treated  by  the 
men  he  had  got  round  him  as  a  man  who  had  a  little 
property  that  he  had  not  got  rid  of,  and  as  one  who  was 
to  be  used  with  some  civility,  until  his  money  was  gone, 
and  he  sank  down  to  the  level  of  the  rest  of  them — to  the 
level  of  Living  by  his  wits,  if  they  were  sharp  enough  to  make 
a  card  or  billiard  sharper ;  or  otherwise  to  find  his  level 
among  the  proscribed  of  society,  let  that  be  what  it  might. 

And  George's  wits  were  not  of  the  first  order,  or  the 
second  ;  and  his  manners  and  education  were  certainly  not 
those  of  a  gentleman,  or  likely  to  be  useful  in  attracting 
such  unwary  persons  as  these  Arabs  of  the  metropolis 
preyed  upon.  So  it  happened  that  when  all  his  money 
was  played  away,  which  came  to  pass  in  a  month  or  two, 
the  higher  and  cleverer  class  of  rascals  began  to  look  un- 
commonly cold  upon  him. 

166 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

At  first  poor  crushed  Mary  used  to  entertain  of  an  even- 
ing some  of  the  6lite  among  the  card-sharpers  of  London 
— men  who  actually  could  have  spoken  to  a  gentleman  in 
a  public  place,  and  not  have  got  kicked.  These  men  were 
polite,  and  rather  agreeable,  and  one  of  them,  a  Captain- 
Saxon,  was  so  deferential  to  her,  and  seemed  so  entirely 
to  understand  her  position,  that  she  grew  very  fond  of 
him,  and  was  always  pleased  to  see  him  at  her  house. 

Though,  indeed,  she  saw  but  little  of  any  men  who 
came  there,  soon  after  any  of  them  arrived,  she  used  to 
receive  a  signal  from  George,  which  she  dared  not  disobey, 
to  go  to  bed.  And  when  she  lay  there,  lonely  and  sleep- 
less, she  could  detect,  from  the  absence  of  conversation, 
save  now  and  then  a  low,  fierce  oath,  that  they  were  play- 
ing desperately,  and  at  such  times  she  would  lie  trembling 
and  crying.  Once  or  twice,  during  the  time  she  remem- 
bered these  meetings,  they  were  rudely  broken  upon  by 
oaths  and  blows,  and  on  one  particular  occasion,  she  heard 
one  of  the  gamesters,  when  infuriated,  call  her  husband 
"  a  d — d  swindling  dog  of  a  forger." 

In  these  times,  which  lasted  but  a  few  months,  she  be- 
gan to  reflect  what  a  fool  she  had  been,  and  how  to  grat- 
ify her  fancy  she  had  thrown  from  her  everything  solid 
and  worth  keeping  in  the  world.  She  had  brought  herself 
to  confess,  in  bitterness  and  anguish,  that  he  did  not  love 
her,  and  never  had,  and  that  she  was  a  miserable  unhappy 
dupe.  But,  notwithstanding,  she  loved  him  still,  though 
she  dreaded  the  sight  of  him,  for  she  got  little  from  him 
now  but  oaths  and  taunts. 

It  was  soon  after  their  return  from  Brighton  that  he 
broke  out,  first  on  some  trivial  occasion,  and  cursed  her 
aloud.  He  said  he  hated  the  sight  of  her  pale  face,  for  it 
always  reminded  him  of  ruin  and  misery  ;  that  he  had  the 
greatest  satisfaction  in  telling  her  that  he  was  utterly 
ruined  ;  that  his  father  was  dead,  and  had  left  his  money 
elsewhere,  and  that  her  father  was  little  better ;  that  she 
would  soon  be  in  the  workhouse  ;  and,  in  fine,  said  ev- 
167 


The  Recollections  of 

erything  that  his  fierce,  wild,  brutal  temper  could  sug- 
gest. 

She  never  tempted  another  outbreak  of  the  kind ;  that 
one  was  too  horrible  for  her,  and  crushed  her  spirit  at 
once.  She  only  tried  by  mildness  and  submission  to  dep- 
recate his  rage.  But  every  day  he  came  home  looking 
fiercer  and  wilder';  as  time  went  on  her  heart  sunk  within 
her,  and  she  dreaded  something  more  fearful  than  she  had 
experienced  yet. 

As  I  said,  after  a  month  or  two,  his  first  companions 
began  to  drop  off,  or  only  came,  bullying  and  swearing,  to 
demand  money.  And  now  another  class  of  men  began  to 
take  their  place,  the  sight  of  whom  made  her  blood  cold — 
worse  dressed  than  the  other,  and  worse  mannered,  with 
strange,  foul  oaths  on  their  lips.  And  then,  after  a  time, 
two  ruffians,  worse  looking  than  any  of  the  others,  began 
to  come  there,  of  whom  the  one  she  dreaded  most  was 
called  Maitland. 

He  was  always  very  civil  to  her ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing about  him,  his  lowering,  evil  face,  and  wild  looks, 
which  made  him  a  living  nightmare  to  her.  She  knew  he 
was  flying  from  justice,  by  the  way  he  came  and  went, 
and  by  the  precaution  always  taken  when  he  was  there. 
But  when  he  came  to  live  in  the  room  over  theirs,  and 
when,  by  listening  at  odd  times,  she  found  that  he  and 
her  husband  were  engaged  in  some  great  villany,  the  nat- 
ure of  which  she  could  not  understand,  then  she  saw  that 
there  was  nothing  to  do,  but  in  sheer  desperation  to  sit 
down  and  wait  the  catastrophe. 

About  this  time  she  made  another  discovery,  that  she 
was  penniless,  and  had  been  so  some  time.  George  had 
given  her  money  from  time  to  time  to  carry  on  household 
expenses,  and  she  contrived  to  make  these  sums  answer 
well  enough.  But  one  day,  determined  to  know  the  worst, 
she  asked  him,  at  the  risk  of  another  explosion,  how  their 
account  stood  at  the  bank  ?  He  replied  in  the  best  of  his 
humours,  apparently,  "  that  the  five  thousand  they  had  had 
168 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

there  had  been  overdrawn  some  six  weeks,  and  that,  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  his  exertions  in  various  ways,  she'd  have 
been  starved  out  before  now." 

"  All  gone  !  "  she  said  ;  "  and  where  to  ?  " 

"  To  the  devil,"  he  answered.  "  And  you  may  go  after  it." 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  now,  George  ?  " 

"  The  best  we  can." 

"  But  the  baby,  George  ?  I  shall  lie-in  in  three 
months." 

"  You  must  take  your  chance,  and  the  baby  too.  As 
long  as  there's  any  money  going  you'll  get  some  of  it.  If 
you  wrote  to  your  father  you  might  get  some." 

"  I'll  never  do  that,"  she  said. 

"Won't  you  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  I'll  starve  you  into  it  when 
money  gets  scarce." 

Things  remained  like  this  till  it  came  to  be  nearly  ten 
months  from  their  marriage.  Mary  had  never  written 
home  but  once,  from  Brighton,  and  then,  as  we  know,  the 
answer  had  miscarried ;  so  she,  conceiving  she  was  cast 
off  by  her  father,  had  never  attempted  to  communicate 
with  him  again.  The  time  drew  nigh  that  she  should  be 
confined,  and  she  got  very  sick  and  ill,  and  still  the  man 
Maitland  lived  in  the  house,  and  he  and  George  spent 
much  of  their  time  away  together  at  night. 

Yet  poor  Mary  had  a  friend  who  stayed  by  her  through 
it  all — Captain  Saxon,  the  great  billiard  sharper.  Many  a 
weary  hour,  when  she  was  watching  up  anxious  and  ill, 
for  her  husband,  this  man  would  come  and  sit  with  her, 
talking  agreeably  and  well  about  many  things ;  but  chiefly 
about  the  life  he  used  to  lead  before  he  fell  so  low  as  he 
was  then. 

He  used  to  say,  "  Mrs.  Hawker,  you  cannot  tell  what  a 
relief  and  pleasure  it  is  to  me  to  have  a  lady  to  talk  to 
again.  You  must  conceive  how  a  man  brought  up  like 
myself  misses  it." 

"  Surely,  Captain  Saxon,"  she  would  say,  "  you  have 
some  relations  left.     Why  not  go  back  to  them  ?  " 
169 


The  Recollections  of 

"  They  wouldn't  own  me,"  he  said.  "  I  smashed  every- 
thing, a  fine  fortune  amongst  other  things,  by  my  goings 
on ;  and  they  very  properly  cast  me  off.  I  never  got  be- 
yond the  law,  though.  Many  well-known  men  speak  to 
me  now,  but  they  won't  play  with  me,  though  ;  I  am  too 
good.  And  so  you  see  I  play  dark  to  win  from  young 
fellows,  and  I  am  mixed  up  with  a  lot  of  scoundrels.  A 
man  brought  an  action  against  me  the  other  day  to  re- 
cover two  hundred  pounds  I  won  of  him,  but  he  couldn't 
do  anything.  And  the  judge  said,  that  though  the  law 
couldn't  touch  me,  yet  I  was  mixed  up  notoriously  with  a 
gang  of  sharpers.  That  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  hear  in 
court,  wasn't  it  ? — but  true." 

"  It  has  often  surprised  me  to  see  how  temperate  you 
are,  Captain  Saxon,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  forced  to  be,"  he  said  ;  "  I  must  keep  my  hand 
steady.  See  there  ;  it's  as  firm  as  a  rock.  No  ;  the  con- 
solation of  drink  is  denied  me ;  I  have  something  to  live 
for  still.  I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  I've  insured  my  life  very 
high  in  favour  of  my  little  sister  whom  I  ruined,  and  who 
is  out  as  a  governess.  If  I  don't  pay  up  to  the  last,  you 
see,  or  if  I  commit  suicide,  she'd  lose  the  money.  I  pay 
very  high,  I  assure  you.  On  one  occasion  not  a  year  ago, 
I  played  for  the  money  to  pay  the  premium  only  two 
nights  before  it  would  have  been  too  late.  There  was 
touch  and  go  for  you  !  But  my  hand  was  as  steady  as  a 
rock,  and  after  the  last  game  was  over  I  fainted." 

"  Good  Lord,"  she  said,  "  what  a  terrible  life !  But 
suppose  you  fall  into  sickness  and  poverty.  Then  you 
may  fall  into  arrear,  and  she  will  lose  everything  after 
all." 

He  laughed  aloud.  A  strange  wild  laugh.  "  No," 
said  he  ;  "I  am  safe  there,  if  physicians  are  to  be  believed. 
Sometimes,  when  I  am  falling  asleep,  my  heart  begins  to 
flutter  and  whirl,  and  I  sit  up  in  bed,  breathless  and  per- 
spiring till  it  grows  still  again.  Then  I  laugh  to  myself, 
and  say,  '  Not  this  time  then,  but  it  can't  be  long  now.' 
170 


Those  palpitations,  Mrs.  Hawker,  are  growing  worse  and 
worse  each  month.  I  have  got  a  desperate  incurable  heart 
complaint,  that  will  carry  me  off,  sudden  and  sure,  without 
warning,  I  hope  to  a  better  sort  of  world  than  this." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Captain  Saxon,"  she  said,  sobbing, 
"  so  very,  very  sorry  for  you  !  " 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,  my  good  friend,"  he  replied. 
"  It's  long  since  I  had  so  good  a  friend  as  you.  Now 
change  the  subject.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  yourself. 
You  are  going  to  be  confined." 

"  In  a  few  days,  I  fear,"  she  said. 

"  Have  you  money  ?  " 

"  My  husband  seems  to  have  money  enough  at  present, 
but  we  have  none  to  fall  back  upon." 

"  What  friends  have  you  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  can  apply  to." 

"  H'm,"  he  said.  "  Well,  you  must  make  use  of  me, 
and  as  far  as  I  can  manage  it,  of  my  purse  too,  in  case  of 
an  emergency.  I  mean,  you  know,  Mrs.  Hawker,"  he 
added,  looking  full  at  her,  "  to  make  this  offer  to  you  as  I 
would  to  my  own  sister.  Don't  in  God's  name  refuse  my 
protection,  such  as  it  is,  from  any  mistaken  motives  of 
jealousy.  Now  tell  me,  as  honestly  as  you  dare,  how  do 
you  believe  your  husband  gets  his  living  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea,  but  I  fear  the  worst." 

"  You  do  right,"  he  said.  "  Forewarned  is  forearmed, 
and,  at  the  risk  of  frightening  you,  I  must  bid  you  prepare 
for  the  worst.  Although  I  know  nothing  about  what  he 
is  engaged  in,  yet  I  know  that  the  man  Maitland,  who 
lives  above,  and  who  you  say  is  your  husband's  constant 
companion,  is  a  desperate  man.  If  anything  happens, 
apply  to  me  straightway,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can.  My 
principal  hope  is  in  putting  you  in  communication  with 
your  friends.  Could  you  not  trust  me  with  your  story, 
that  we  might  take  advice  together?  " 

She  told  him  all  from  beginning  to  the  end,  and  at  the 
last  she  said,  "  If  the  worst  should  come,  whatever  that 
171 


The  Recollections  of 

may  be,  I  would  write  for  help  to  Major  Buckley,  for  the 
sake  of  the  child  that  is  to  come." 

"  Major  Buckley  !  " — he  asked  eagerly, — "  do  you  mean 
James  Buckley  of  the  — th  ?  " 

"  The  same  man,"  she  replied,  "  my  kindest  friend." 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  "  he  said,  growing  pale,  "  I've  got  one  of 
these  spasms  coming  on.  A  glass  of  water,  my  dear  lady, 
in  God's  name  !  " 

He  held  both  hands  on  his  heart,  and  lay  back  in  his 
chair  a  little,  with  livid  lips,  gasping  for  breath.  By  de- 
grees his  white  hands  dropped  upon  his  lap,  and  he  said 
with  a  sigh,  "  Nearer  still,  old  friend,  nearer  than  ever. 
Not  far  off  now." 

But  he  soon  recovered  and  said,  "  Mrs.  Hawker,  if  you 
ever  see  that  man  Buckley  again,  tell  him  that  you  saw 
Charley  Biddulph,  who  was  once  his  friend,  fallen  to  be 
the  consort  of  rogues  and  thieves,  cast  off  by  every  one, 
and  dying  of  a  heart  complaint ;  but  tell  him  he  could  not 
die  without  sending  a  tender  love  to  his  good  old  comrade, 
and  that  he  remembered  him  and  loved  him  to  the  very 
end." 

"  And  I  shall  say  too,"  said  Mary,  "  when  all  neglected 
me,  and  forgot  me,  this  Charles  Biddulph  helped  and 
cheered  me  ;  and  when  I  was  fallen  to  the  lowest,  that  he 
was  still  to  me  a  courteous  gentleman,  and  faithful  ad- 
viser ;  and  that  but  for  him  and  his  goodness  I  should 
have  sunk  into  desperation  long  ago.  Be  sure  that  I  will 
say  this  too." 

The  door  opened,  and  George  Hawker  came  in. 

"  Good  evening,  Captain  Saxon,"  said  he.  "  My  wife 
seems  to  make  herself  more  agreeable  to  you  than  she 
does  to  me.  I  hope  you  are  pleased  with  her.  However, 
you  are  welcome  to  be.  I  thank  God  I  ain't  jealous. 
Where's  Maitland  ?  " 

"He  has  not  been  here  to-night,  George,"  she  said, 
timidly. 

"  Curse  him,  then.  Give  me  a  candle  ;  I'm  going  up- 
172 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

stairs.  Don't  go  on  my  account,  Captain  Saxon.  Well, 
if  you  will,  good  night." 

Saxon  bade  him  goodnight,  and  went.  George  went  up 
into  Maitland's  room,  where  Mary  was  never  admitted ; 
and  soon  she  heard  him  hammer,  hammering  at  metal, 
overhead.  She  was  too  used  to  that  sound  to  take  notice 
of  it ;  so  she  went  to  bed,  but  lay  long  awake  thinking  of 
poor  Captain  Saxon. 

Less  than  a  week  after  that  she  was  confined.  She 
had  a  boy,  and  that  gave  her  new  life.  Poorly  provided 
for  as  that  child  was,  he  could  not  have  been  more  ten- 
derly nursed  or  more  prized  and  loved,  if  he  had  been 
born  in  the  palace,  with  his  Majesty's  right  honourable 
ministers  in  the  ante-room,  drinking  dry  Sillery  in  honour 
of  the  event. 

Now  she  could  endure  what  was  to  come  better.  And 
less  than  a  month  after,  just  as  she  was  getting  well  again, 
all  her  strength  and  courage  were  needed.  The  end  came. 

She  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  about  ten  o'clock  at 
night,  nursing  her  baby,  when  she  heard  the  street-door 
opened  by  a  key ;  and  the  next  moment  her  husband  and 
Maitland  were  in  the  room. 

"  Sit  quiet,  now,  or  I'll  knock  your  brains  out  with  the 
poker,"  said  George  ;  and,  seizing  a  china  ornament  from 
the  chimney-piece,  he  thrust  it  into  the  fire,  and  heaped 
the  coals  over  it. 

"  We're  caught  like  rats,  you  fool,  if  they  have  tracked 
us,"  said  Maitland  ;  "  and  nothing  but  your  consummate 
folly  to  thank  for  it.  I  deserve  hanging  for  mixing  my- 
self up  with  such  a  man  in  a  thing  like  this.  Now,  are 
you  coming ;  or  do  you  want  half-an-hour  to  wish  your 
wife  good-bye  ?  " 

George  never  answered  that  question.  There  was  a 
noise  of  breaking  glass  down-stairs,  and  a  moment  after 
a  sound  of  several  feet  on  the  stair. 

"  Make  a  fight  for  it,"  said  Maitland,  "  if  you  can  do 
nothing  else.  Make  for  the  back-door." 


The  Recollections  of 

But  George  stood  aghast,  while  Mary  trembled  in  every 
limb.  The  door  was  burst  open,  and  a  tall  man  coming 
in  said,  "  In  the  King's  name,  I  arrest  you,  George  Hawk- 
er and  William  Maitland,  for  coining." 

Maitland  threw  himself  upon  the  man,  and  they  fell 
crashing  over  the  table.  George  dashed  at  the  door,  but 
was  met  by  two  others.  For  a  minute  there  was  a  wild 
scene  of  confusion  and  struggling,  while  Mary  crouched 
against  the  wall  with  the  child,  shut  her  eyes,  and  tried  to 
pray.  When  she  looked  round  again  she  saw  her  hus- 
band and  Maitland  securely  handcuffed,  and  the  tall  man, 
who  first  came  in,  wiping  the  blood  from  a  deep  cut  in  his 
forehead,  said, 

"  There  is  nothing  against  this  woman,  is  there,  Sanders  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir,  except  that  she  is  the  prisoner  Hawker's 
wife." 

"  Poor  woman !  "  said  the  tall  man.  "  She  has  been 
lately  confined,  too.  I  don't  think  it  will  be  necessary  to 
take  her  into  custody.  Take  away  the  prisoners ;  I  shall 
stay  here  and  search." 

He  began  his  search  by  taking  the  tongs  and  pulling 
the  fire  to  pieces.  Soon  he  came  to  the  remnants  of  the 
china  ornament  which  George  had  thrown  in ;  and,  after 
a  little  more  raking,  two  or  three  round  pieces  of  metal  fell 
out  of  the  grate. 

"  A  very  green  trick,"  he  remarked.  "  Well,  they  must 
stay  there  to  cool  before  I  can  touch  them  ;  "  and  turning 
to  Mary  said,  "  Could  you  oblige  me  with  some  sticking- 
plaster?  Your  husband's  confederate  has  given  me  an 
ugly  blow." 

She  got  some,  and  put  it  on  for  him.  "  Oh,  sir !  "  she 
said,  "  Can  you  tell  me  what  this  is  all  about  ?  " 

"  Easy,  ma'am,"  said  he.  "  Maitland  is  one  of  the 
most  notorious  coiners  in  England,  and  your  husband  is 
his  confederate  and  assistant.  We've  been  watching,  just 
to  get  a  case  that  there  would  be  no  trouble  about,  and 
we've  got  it." 

174 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  And  if  it  is  proved  ?  "  she  asked,  trembling. 

He  looked  very  serious.  "  Mrs.  Hawker,  I  know  your 
history,  as  well  as  your  husband's,  the  same  as  if  you  told 
it  to  me.  So  I  am  sorry  to  give  a  lady  who  is  in  misfort- 
une more  pain  than  I  can  help ;  but  you  know  coining  is 
a  hanging  matter." 

She  rocked  herself  wildly  to  and  fro,  and  the  chair 
where  she  sat,  squeezing  the  child  against  her  bosom  till 
he  cried.  She  soothed  him  again  without  a  word,  and 
then  said  to  the  officer,  who  was  searching  every  nook 
and  cranny  in  the  room  : 

"  Shall  you  be  obliged  to  turn  me  out  of  here,  or  may  I 
stay  a  few  nights  ?  " 

"  You  can  stay  as  long  as  you  please,  madam,"  he  said  ; 
"  that's  a  matter  with  your  landlady,  not  me.  But  if  I 
was  you  I'd  communicate  with  my  friends,  and  get  some 
money  to  have  my  husband  defended." 

"  They'd  sooner  pay  for  the  rope  to  hang  him,"  she 
said.  "  You  seem  a  kind  and  pitiful  sort  of  man  ;  tell  me 
honestly,  is  there  any  chance  for  him  ?  " 

"  Honestly,  none.  There  may  be  some  chance  of  his 
life ;  but  there  is  evidence  enough  on  this  one  charge, 
leave  alone  others,  mind  you,  to  convict  twenty  men. 
Why,  we've  evidence  of  two  forgeries  committed  on  his 
father  before  ever  he  married  you ;  so  that,  if  he  is  ac- 
quitted on  this  charge,  he'll  be  arrested  for  another  outside 
the  court." 

All  night  long  she  sat  up  nursing  the  child  before  the 
fire,  which  from  time  to  time  she  replenished.  The  officers 
in  possession  slept  on  sofas,  and  dozed  in  chairs ;  but 
when  the  day  broke  she  was  still  there,  pale  and  thought- 
ful, sitting  much  in  the  same  place  and  attitude  as  she  did 
before  all  this  happened,  the  night  before,  which  seemed 
to  her  like  a  year  ago,  so  great  was  the  change  since  then. 
"  So,"  thought  she,  "  he  was  nothing  but  a  villain  after  all. 
He  had  merely  gained  her  heart  for  money's  sake,  and 
cast  her  off  when  it  was  gone.  What  a  miserable  fool  she 
175 


The  Recollections  of 

had  been,  and  how  rightly  served  now,  to  be  left  penniless 
in  the  world  !  " 

Penniless,  but  not  friendless.  She  remembered  Captain 
Saxon,  and  determined  to  go  to  him  and  ask  his  advice. 
So  when  the  strange  weird  morning  had  crept  on,  to  such 
time  as  the  accustomed  crowd  began  to  surge  through  the 
street,  she  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  went  away  for  the  first 
time  to  seek  him  at  his  lodgings,  in  a  small  street,  leading 
off  Piccadilly. 

An  old  woman  answered  the  door.  "  The  Captain  was 
gone,"  she  said,  "  to  Boulogne,  and  wouldn't  be  back  yet 
for  a  fortnight.  Would  she  leave  any  name  ?  " 

She  hardly  thought  it  worth  while.  All  the  world 
seemed  to  have  deserted  her  now ;  but  she  said,  more  in 
absence  of  mind  than  for  any  other  reason,  "  Tell  him  that 
Mrs.  Hawker  called,  if  you  please." 

"  Mrs.  Hawker  !  "  the  old  woman  said ;  "  there's  a  let- 
ler  for  you,  ma'am,  I  believe ;  and  something  particular 
too,  'cause  he  told  me  to  keep  it  in  my  desk  till  you  called. 
Just  step  in,  if  you  please." 

Mary  followed  her  in,  and  she  produced  a  letter  directed 
to  Mrs.  Hawker.  When  Mary  opened  it,  which  she  did 
in  the  street,  after  the  door  was  shut,  the  first  thing  she 
saw  was  a  bank-note  for  five  pounds,  and  behind  it  v/as 
the  following  note  : — 

"  I  am  forced  to  go  to  Boulogne,  at  a  moment's  notice, 
with  a  man  whom  I  must  not  lose  sight  of.  Should  you 
have  occasion  to  apply  to  me  during  my  absence  (which  is 
fearfully  probable),  I  have  left  this,  begging  your  accept- 
ance of  it,  in  the  same  spirit  as  that  in  which  it  was 
offered ;  and  I  pray  you  to  accept  this  piece  of  advice  at 
the  same  time  : — 

"  Apply  instantly  to  your  friends,  and  go  back  to  them 

at  once.     Don't  stop  about  London  on  any  excuse.     You 

have  never  known  what  it  is  to  be  without  money  yet ; 

take  care  you  never  do.     When  a  man  or  a  woman  is  poor 

176 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

and  hungry,  there  is  a  troop  of  devils  who  always  follow 
such,  whispering  all  sorts  of  things  to  them.  They  are 
all,  or  nearly  all,  known  to  me :  take  care  you  do  not  make 
their  acquaintance. 

"  Yours  most  affectionately, 

"  CHARLES  BIDDULPH." 

What  a  strange  letter,  she  thought.  He  must  be  mad. 
Yet  there  was  method  in  his  madness,  too.  Devils  such 
as  he  spoke  of  had  leant  over  her  chair  and  whispered  to 
her  before  now,  plain  to  be  heard.  But  that  was  in  the 
old  times,  when  she  sat  brooding  alone  over  the  fire  at 
night.  She  was  no  longer  alone  now,  and  they  had  fled — 
fled,  scared  at  the  face  of  a  baby. 

She  went  home  and  spoke  to  the  landlady.  But  little 
was  owing,  and  that  she  had  money  enough  to  pay  with- 
out the  five  pounds  that  the  kind  gambler  had  given  her. 
However,  when  she  asked  the  landlady  whether  she  could 
stay  there  a  week  or  two  longer,  the  woman  prayed  her 
with  tears  to  begone  ;  that  she  and  her  husband  had 
brought  trouble  enough  on  them  already. 

But  there  was  still  a  week  left  of  their  old  tenancy,  so 
she  held  possession  in  spite  of  the  landlady ;  and  from 
the  police-officers,  who  were  still  about  the  place,  she 
heard  that  the  two  prisoners  had  been  committed  for  trial, 
and  that  that  trial  would  take  place  early  in  the  week  at  the 
Old  Bailey. 

Three  days  before  the  trial  she  had  to  leave  the  lodg- 
ings, with  but  little  more  than  two  pounds  in  the  world. 
For  those  three  days  she  got  lodging  as  she  could  in 
coffee-houses  and  such  places,  always  meeting,  however, 
with  that  sort  of  kindness  and  sympathy  from  the  wo- 
men belonging  to  them  which  could  not  be  bought  for 
money.  She  was  in  such  a  dull  state  of  despair,  that  she 
was  happily  insensible  to  all  smaller  discomforts,  and  on 
the  day  of  the  trial  she  endeavoured  to  push  into  the 
court  with  her  child  in  her  arms. 

177 


The  Recollections  of 

The  crowd  was  too  dense,  and  the  heat  was  too  great 
for  her,  so  she  came  outside  and  sat  on  some  steps  on  one 
side  of  a  passage.  Once  she  had  to  move  as  a  great  per- 
sonage came  up,  and  then  one  of  the  officers  said, — 

"  Come,  my  good  woman,  you  musn't  sit  there,  you 
know.  That's  the  judge's  private  door." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  she  said, "  and  I  will  move,  if  you  wish 
me.  But  they  are  trying  my  husband  for  coining,  and  the 
court  is  too  hot  for  the  child.  If  you  will  let  me  sit  there, 
I  will  be  sure  to  get  out  of  the  way  when  my  lord  comes 
past." 

The  man  looked  at  her  as  if  it  was  a  case  somewhat 
out  of  his  experience,  and  went  away.  Soon,  however, 
he  came  back  again,  and  after  staring  at  her  a  short  time, 
said, — 

"  Do  you  want  anything,  missis  ?  Anything  I  can  get  ?  " 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  nothing,"  she  said  ;  "  but  if 
you  can  tell  me  how  the  trial  is  going  on,  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  you." 

He  shook  his  head  and  went  away,  and  when  he  re- 
turned, telling  her  that  the  judge  was  summing  up,  he 
bade  her  follow  him,  and  found  her  a  place  in  a  quiet 
part  of  the  court.  She  could  see  her  husband  and  Mait- 
land  standing  in  the  dock,  quite  close  to  her,  and  before 
them  the  judge  was  calmly,  slowly,  and  distinctly  giving 
the  jury  the  history  of  the  case  from  beginning  to  end. 
She  was  too  much  bewildered  and  desperate  to  listen  to  it, 
but  she  was  attracted  by  the  buzz  of  conversation  which 
arose  when  the  jury  retired.  They  seemed  gone  a  bare 
minute  to  her,  when  she  heard  and  understood  that  the 
prisoners  were  found  guilty.  Then  she  heard  Maitland 
sentenced  to  death,  and  George  Hawker  condemned  to  be 
transported  beyond  the  seas  for  the  term  of  his  natural 
life,  in  consideration  of  his  youth  ;  so  she  brought  herself 
to  understand  that  the  game  was  played  out,  and  turned 
to  go. 

The  officer  who  had  been  kind  to  her  stopped  her,  and 
178 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

asked  her  "  where  she  was  going  ?  "  She  answered,  "  To 
Devonshire,"  and  passed  on,  but  almost  immediately  pushed 
back  to  him  through  the  crowd,  which  was  pouring  out  of 
the  door,  and  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  to  her.  Then 
she  went  out  with  the  crowd  into  the  street,  and  almost 
instinctively  struck  westward. 

Through  the  western  streets,  roaring  with  carriages, 
crowded  with  foot  passengers,  like  one  in  a  dream  ;  past 
the  theatres,  and  the  arches,  and  all  the  great,  rich  world, 
busy  seeking  its  afternoon  pleasure  :  through  the  long 
suburbs,  getting  more  scattered  as  she  went  on,  and  so 
out  on  to  the  dusty  broad  western  highway  :  a  lonely 
wanderer,  with  only  one  thought  in  her  throbbing  head, 
to  reach  such  home  as  was  left  her  before  she  died. 

At  the  first  quiet  spot  she  came  to  she  sat  down  and 
forced  herself  to  think.  Two  hundred  miles  to  go,  and 
fifteen  shillings  to  keep  her.  Never  mind,  she  could  beg ; 
she  had  heard  that  some  made  a  trade  of  begging,  and 
did  well ;  hard  if  she  should  die  on  the  road.  So  she 
pushed  on  through  the  evening  toward  the  sinking  sun, 
till  the  milestones  passed  slower  and  slower,  and  then  she 
found  shelter  in  a  tramps'  lodging-house,  and  got  what 
rest  she  could.  In  a  week  she  was  at  Taunton.  Then 
the  weather,  which  had  hitherto  been  fair  and  pleasant, 
broke  up,  and  still  she  held  on  (with  the  rain  beating  from 
the  westward  in  her  face,  as  though  to  stay  her  from  her 
refuge),  dizzy  and  confused,  but  determined  still,  along  the 
miry  high-road. 

She  had  learnt  from  a  gipsy  woman,  with  whom  she 
had  walked  in  company  for  some  hours,  how  to  carry 
her  child  across  her  back,  slung  in  her  shawl.  So,  with 
her  breast  bare  to  the  storm,  she  fought  her  way  over  the 
high  bleak  downs,  glad  and  happy  when  the  boy  ceased 
his  wailing,  and  lay  warm  and  sheltered  behind  her, 
swathed  in  every  poor  rag  she  could  spare  from  her 
numbed  and  dripping  body. 

Late  on  a  wild  rainy  night  she  reached  Exeter,  utterly 

179 


The  Recollections  of 

penniless,  and  wet  to  the  skin.  She  had  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  noon,  and  her  breast  was  failing  for  want  of 
nourishment  and  over-exertion.  Still  it  was  only  twenty 
miles  further.  Surely,  she  .thought,  God  had  not  saved 
her  through  two  hundred  such  miles,  to  perish  at  last. 
The  child  was  dry  and  warm,  and  fast  asleep,  and  if  she 
could  get  some  rest  in  one  of  the  doorways  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  town,  till  she  was  stronger,  she  could  fight  her 
way  on  to  Drumston  ;  so  she  held  on  to  St.  Thomas's,  and 
finding  an  archway  drier  than  the  others,  sat  down,  and 
took  the  child  upon  her  lap. 

Rest ! — rest  was  a  fiction  ;  she  was  better  walking — such 
aches,  and  cramps,  and  pains  in  every  joint !  She  would 
get  up  and  push  on,  and  yet  minute  after  minute  went  by, 
and  she  could  not  summon  courage. 

She  was  sitting  with  her  beautiful  face  in  the  light  of  a 
lamp.  A  woman  well  and  handsomely  dressed  was  pass- 
ing rapidly  through  the  rain,  but  on  seeing  her  stopped 
and  said : — 

"  My  poor  girl,  why  do  you  sit  there  in  the  damp  entry 
such  a  night  as  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  cold,  hungry,  ruined ;  that's  why  I  sit  under  the 
arch,"  replied  Mary,  rising  up. 

"  Come  home  with  me,"  said  the  woman  :  "  I  will  take 
care  of  you." 

"  I  am  going  to  my  friends,"  replied  she. 

"  Are  you  sure  they  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear," 
said  the  woman,  "  with  that  pretty  little  pledge  at  your 
bosom  ?  " 

"  I  care  not,"  said  Mary,  "  I  told  you  1  was  desperate." 

"  Desperate,  my  pretty  love,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  a  girl 
with  beauty  like  yours  should  never  be  desperate ;  come 
with  me." 

Mary  stepped  forward  and  struck  her,  so  full  and  true 
that  the  woman  reeled  backwards,  and  stood  whimpering 
and  astonished. 

"  Out !  you  false  jade,"  said  Mary ;  "  you  are  one  of 
1 80 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

those  devils  that  Saxon  told  me  of,  who  come  whispering, 
and  peering,  and  crowding  behind  those  who  are  penniless 
and  deserted  ;  but  I  have  faced  you,  and  struck  you,  and 
I  tell  you  to  go  back  to  your  master,  and  say  that  I  am 
not  for  him." 

The  woman  went  crying  and  frightened  down  the  street, 
thinking  that  she  had  been  plying  her  infamous  trade  on 
a  lunatic  ;  but  Mary  sat  down  again  and  nursed  the  child. 

But  the  wind  changed  a  little,  and  the  rain  began  to 
beat  in  on  her  shelter ;  she  arose,  and  went  down  the 
street  to  seek  a  new  one. 

She  found  a  deep  arch,  well  sheltered,  and,  what  was 
better,  a  lamp  inside,  so  that  she  could  sit  on  the  stone 
step,  and  see  her  baby's  face.  Dainty  quarters,  truly ! 
She  went  to  take  possession,  and  started  back  with  a 
scream. 

What  delusion  was  this  ?  There,  under  the  lamp,  on 
the  step,  sat  a  woman,  her  own  image,  nursing  a  baby  so 
like  her  own  that  she  looked  down  at  her  bosom  to  see  if 
it  was  safe.  It  must  be  a  fancy  of  her  own  disordered 
brain  ;  but  no — for  when  she  gathered  up  her  courage,  and 
walked  towards  it,  a  woman  she  knew  well  started  up,  and, 
laughing  wildly,  cried  out. 

"  Ha !  ha  !     Mary  Thornton." 

"  Ellen  Lee  ?  "  said  Mary,  aghast. 

"  That's  me,  dear,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  you're  welcome, 
my  love,  welcome  to  the  cold  stones,  and  wet  streets,  and 
to  hunger  and  drunkenness,  and  evil  words,  and  the  abom- 
ination of  desolation.  That's  what  we  all  come  to,  my 
dear.  Is  that  his  child  ?  " 

"  Whose  ?  "  said  Mary.  "  This  is  George  Hawker's 
child." 

"  Hush,  my  dear  !  "  said  the  other  ;  "  we  never  men- 
tion his  name  in  our  society,  you  know.  This  is  his  too 
— a  far  finer  one  than  yours.  Cis  Jewell  had  one  of  his  too, 
a  poor  little  rat  of  a  thing  that  died,  and  now  the  minx  is 
flaunting  about  the  High-street  every  night,  in  her  silks 
181 


The  Recollections  of 

and  her  feathers  as  bold  as  brass.  I  hope  you'll  have 
nothing  to  say  fo  her  ;  you  and  I  will  keep  house  together. 
They  are  looking  after  me  to  put  me  in  the  madhouse. 
You'll  come  too,  of  course." 

"  God  have  mercy  on  you,  poor  Nelly  !  "  said  Mary. 

"  Exactly  so,  my  dear,"  the  poor  lunatic  replied.  "  Of 
course  He  will.  But  about  him  you  know.  You  heard 
the  terms  of  his  bargain  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

"  Why,  about  him  you  know,  G H ,  Madge  the 

witch's  son.  He  sold  himself  to  the  deuce,  my  dear,  on 
condition  of  ruining  a  poor  girl  every  year.  And  he  has 

kept  his  contract  hitherto.  If  he  don't,  you  know 

come  here,  I  want  to  whisper  to  you." 

The  poor  girl  whispered  rapidly  in  her  ear ;  but  Mary 
broke  away  from  her  and  fled  rapidly  down  the  street, 
poor  Ellen  shouting  after  her,  "  Ha,  ha  !  the  parson's 
daughter,  too, ha,  ha !  " 

"  Let  me  get  out  of  this  town,  O  Lord  !  "  she  prayed 
most  earnestly,  "  if  I  die  in  the  fields."  And  so  she  sped 
on,  and  paused  not  till  she  was  full  two  miles  out  of  the 
lown  towards  home,  leaning  on  the  parapet  of  the  noble 
bridge  that  even  then  crossed  the  river  Exe. 

The  night  had  cleared  up,  and  a  soft  and  gentle  wester- 
ly breeze  was  ruffling  the  broad  waters  of  the  river,  where 
they  slept  deep,  dark,  and  full  above  the  weir.  Just  below 
where  they  broke  over  the  low  rocky  barrier,  the  rising 
moon  showed  a  hundred  silver  spangles  among  the  broken 
eddies. 

The  cool  breeze  and  the  calm  scene  quieted  and 
soothed  her,  and,  for  the  first  time  for  many  days,  she 
began  to  think. 

She  was  going  back,  but  to  what  ?  To  a  desolated 
home,  to  a  heart-broken  father,  to  the  jeers  and  taunts  of 
her  neighbours.  The  wife  of  a  convicted  felon,  what  hope 
was  left  for  her  in  this  world  ?  None.  And  that  child 
that  was  sleeping  so  quietly  on  her  bosom,  what  a  mark 
182 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

was  set  on  him  from  this  time  forward  ! — the  son  of 
Hawker  trie  coiner  !  Would  it  not  be  better  if  they  both 
were  lying  below  there  in  the  cold  still  water,  at  rest  ? 

But  she  laughed  aloud.  "  This  is  the  last  of  the  devils 
he  talked  of,"  said  she.  "  I  have  fought  the  others  and 
beat  them.  I  won't  yield  to  this  one." 

She  paused  abashed,  for  a  man  on  horseback  was 
standing  before  her  as  she  turned.  Had  she  not  been  so 
deeply  engaged  in  her  own  thoughts  she  might  have 
heard  him  merrily  whistling  as  he  approached  from  the 
town,  but  she  heard  him  not,  and  was  first  aware  of  his 
presence  when  he  stood  silently  regarding  her,  not  two 
yards  off. 

"  My  girl,"  he  said,  "  I  fear  you're  in  a  bad  way.  I 
don't  like  to  see  a  young  woman,  pretty  as  I  can  see  you 
are  even  now,  standing  on  a  bridge,  with  a  baby,  talking 
to  herself." 

"  You  mistake  me,"  she  said,  "  I  was  not  going  to  do 
that ;  I  was  resting  and  thinking." 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  Crediton,"  she  replied.  "  Once  there,  I  should 
almost  fancy  myself  safe." 

"  See  here,"  he  said ;  "  my  waggon  is  coming  up  behind. 
I  can  give  you  a  lift  as  far  as  there.  Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  "  if  you  knew.     If  you  only  knew  !  " 

They  waited  for  the  waggon's  coming  up,  for  they 
could  hear  the  horses'  bells  chiming  cheerily  across  the 
valley.  "  I  had  an  only  daughter  went  away  once,"  he 
said.  "  But,  glory  to  God!  I  got  her  back  again,  though 
she  brought  a  child  with  Tier.  And  I've  grown  to  be 
fonder  of  that  poor  little  base-born  one  than  anything  in 
this  world.  So  cheer  up." 

"  I  am  married,"  she  said  ;  "  this  is  my  lawful  boy, 
though  it  were  better,  perhaps,  he  had  never  been  born." 

"  Don't  say  that,  my  girl,"  said  the  old  farmer,  for  such 
she  took  him  to  be,  "  but  thank  God  you  haven't,  been  de- 
ceived like  so  many  are." 

183 


The  Recollections  of 

The  waggon  came  up  and  was  stopped.  He  made  her 
take  such  refreshment  as  was  to  be  got,  and  then  get  in 
and  lie  quiet  among  the  straw  till  in  the  grey  morning 
they  reached  Crediton.  The  weather  had  grown  bad 
again,  and  long  before  sunrise,  after  thanking  and  blessing 
her  benefactor,  poor  Mary  struck  off  once  more,  with  what 
strength  she  had  left,  along  the  deep  red  lanes,  through 
the  driving  rain. 

Chapter  XVII 

• 
Exodus 

BUT  let  us  turn  and  see  what  has  been  going  forward 
in  the  old  parsonage  this  long  weary  year.  Not  much 
that  is  noteworthy,  I  fear.  The  chronicle  of  a  year's  sick- 
ness and  unhappiness,  would  be  rather  uninteresting,  so  I 
must  get  on  as  quick  as  I  can. 

The  Vicar  only  slowly  revived  from  the  fit  in  which  he 
fell  on  the  morning  of  Mary's  departure  to  find  himself 
hopelessly  paralytic,  unable  to  walk  without  support,  and 
barely  able  to  articulate  distinctly.  It  was  when  he  was 
in  this  state,  being  led  up  and  down  the  garden  by  the 
Doctor  and  Frank  Maberly,  the  former  of  whom  was  try- 
ing to  attract  his  attention  to  some  of  their  old  favourites, 
the  flowers,  that  Miss  Thornton  came  to  him  with  the  letter 
which  Mary  had  written  from  Brighton,  immediately  after 
their  marriage. 

It  was,  on  the  whole,  a  great  relief  for  the  Vicar.  He 
had  dreaded  to  hear  worse  than  this.  They  had  kept 
from  him  all  knowledge  of  Hawker's  forgery  on  his  father, 
which  had  been  communicated  to  them  by  Major  Buck- 
ley. So  that  he  began  to  prepare  his  mind  for  the  recep- 
tion of  George  Hawker  as  a  son-in-law,  and  to  force 
himself  to  like  him.  So  with  shaking  palsied  hand  he 
wrote  : — 

"  Dear  Girl, — In  sickness  or  sorrow,  remember  that  I 
184 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

am  still  your  father.  I  hope  you  will  not  stop  long  in 
London,  but  come  back  and  stay  near  me.  We  must  for- 
get all  that  has  passed,  and  make  the  best  of  it. — JOHN 
THORNTON." 

Miss  Thornton  wrote  : — 

"  My  dearest  foolish  Mary, — How  could  you  leave  us 
like  that,  my  love  !  Oh,  if  you  had  only  let  us  know  what 
was  going  on,  I  could  have  told  you  such  things,  my  dear. 
But  now  you  will  never  know  them,  I  hope.  I  hope  Mr. 
Hawker  will  use  you  kindly.  Your  father  hopes  that  you 
and  he  may  come  down  and  live  near  him,  but  we  know  that 
is  impossible.  If  your  father  were  to  know  of  your  hus- 
band's fearful  delinquencies,  it  would  kill  him  at  once. 
But  when  trouble  conies  on  you,  my  love,  as  it  must  in 
the  end,  remember  that  there  is  still  a  happy  home  left 
you  here." 

These  letters  she  never  received.  George  burnt  them 
without  giving  them  to  her,  so  that  for  a  year  she  remained 
under  the  impression  that  they  had  cast  her  off.  So  only 
at  the  last  did  she,  as  the  sole  hope  of  warding  off  poverty 
and  misery  from  her  child,  determine  to  cast  herself  upon 
their  mercy. 

The  year  had  nearly  passed,  when  the  Vicar  had  an- 
other stroke,  a  stroke  that  rendered  him  childish  and  help- 
less, and  precluded  all  possibility  of  his  leaving  his  bed 
again.  Miss  Thornton  found  that  it  was  necessary  to 
have  a  man  servant  in  the  house  now,  to  move  him,  and 
so  on.  So  one  evening,  when  Major  and  Mrs.  Buckley 
and  the  Doctor  had  come  down  to  sit  with  her,  she 
asked,  "  did  they  know  a  man  who  could  undertake  the 
business  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  I  know  a  man  who  would 
suit  you  exactly.  A  strong  knave  enough.  An  old  soldier." 

"  I  don't  think  we  should  like  a  soldier  in  the  house, 
Doctor,"  said  Miss  Thornton.  "  They  use  such  very  odd 
language  sometimes,  you  know." 

"  This  man  never  swears,"  said  the  Doctor. 

185 


The  Recollections  of 

"  But  soldiers  are  apt  to  drink  sometimes,  you  know, 
Doctor,"  said  Miss  Thornton.  "  And  that  wouldn't  do  in 
this  case." 

"  I've  known  the  man  all  my  life,"  said  the  Doctor  with 
animation.  "  And  I  never  saw  him  drunk." 

"  He  seems  faultless,  Doctor,"  said  the  Major  smiling. 

"  No,  he  is  not  faultless,  but  he  has  his  qualifications 
for  the  office,  nevertheless.  He  can  read  passably,  and 
might  amuse  our  poor  old  friend  in  that  way.  He  is  not 
evil  tempered,  though  hasty,  and  I  think  he  would  be  ten- 
der and  kindly  to  the  old  man.  He  had  a  father  once 
himself,  this  man,  and  he  nursed  him  to  his  latest  day,  as 
well  as  he  was  able,  after  his  mother  had  left  them  and 
gone  on  the  road  to  destruction.  And  my  man  has  picked 
up  some  knowledge  of  medicine  too,  and  might  be  a  use- 
ful ally  to  the  physician." 

"  A  paragon  !  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  laughing.  "  Now 
let  us  hear  his  faults,  dear  Doctor." 

"  They  are  many,"  he  replied,  "  I  don't  deny.  But  not 
such  as  to  make  him  an  ineligible  person  in  this  matter. 
To  begin  with,  he  is  a  fool — a  dreaming  fool,  who  once 
mixed  himself  up  with  politics,  and  went  on  the  assump- 
tion that  truth  would  prevail  against  humbug.  And  when 
he  found  his  mistake,  this  fellow,  instead  of  staying  at  his 
post,  as  a  man  should,  he  got  disgusted,  and  beat  a  cow- 
ardly retreat,  leaving  his  duty  unfulfilled.  When  I  look  at 
one  side  of  this  man's  life,  I  wonder  why  such  useless  fel- 
lows as  he  were  born  into  the  world.  But  I  opine  that 
every  man  is  of  some  use,  and  that  my  friend  may  still 
have  manhood  enough  left  in  him  to  move  an  old  paralyt- 
ic man  in  his  bed." 

"  And  his  name,  Doctor  ?  You  must  tell  us  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Buckley,  looking  sadly  at  him. 

"  I  am  that  man,"  said  the  Doctor,  rising.    "  Dear  Miss 
Thornton,  you  will  allow  me  to  come  down  and  stay  with 
you.     I  shall  be  so  glad  to  be  of  any  use  to  my  old  friend, 
and  I  am  so  utterly  useless  now." 
186 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

What  could  she  say,  but  "  yes,"  with  a  thousand  thanks, 
far  more  than  she  could  express  ?  So  he  took  up  his  quar- 
ters at  the  Vicarage,  and  helped  her  in  the  labour  of  love. 

The  Sunday  morning  after  he  came  to  stay  there,  he 
was  going  down  stairs,  shortly  after  daybreak,  to  take  a 
walk  in  the  fresh  morning  air,  when  on  the  staircase  he 
met  Miss  Thornton,  and  she,  putting  sixpence  into  his 
hand,  said, 

"  My  dear  Doctor,  I  looked  out  of  window  just  now, 
and  saw  a  tramper  woman  sitting  on  the  door-step.  She 
has  black  hair  and  a  baby,  like  a  gipsy.  And  I  am  so 
nervous  about  gipsies,  you  know.  Would  you  give  her 
that  and  tell  her  to  go  away  ?  " 

The  Doctor  stepped  down  with  the  sixpence  in  his  hand 
to  do  as  he  was  bid.  Miss  Thornton  followed  him.  He 
opened  the  front  door,  and  there  sure  enough  sat  a 
woman,  her  hair,  wet  with  the  last  night's  rain,  knotted 
loosely  up  behind  her  hatless  head.  She  sat  upon  the 
door-step  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  partly  it  would  seem 
from  disquietude,  and  partly  to  soothe  the  baby  which  was 
lying  on  her  lap  crying.  Her  back  was  towards  him,  and 
the  Doctor  only  had  time  to  notice  that  she  was  young, 
when  he  began, — 

"  My  good  soul,  you  mustn't  sit  there,  you  know.  It's 
Sunday  morning,  and " 

No  more.  He  had  time  to  say  no  more.  Mary  rose 
from  the  step  and  looked  at  him. 

"  You  are  right,  sir,  I  have  no  business  here.  But  if 
you  will  tell  him  that  I  only  came  back  for  the  child's 
sake,  he  will  hear  me.  I  couldn't  leave  it  in  the  work- 
house, you  know." 

Miss  Thornton  ran  forward,  laughing  wildly,  and 
hugged  her  to  her  honest  heart.  "  My  darling  ! "  she 
said,  "  My  own  darling !  I  knew  she  would  find  her 
home  at  last.  In  trouble  and  in  sorrow  I  told  her  where 
she  was  to  come.  Oh  happy  trouble,  that  has  brought 
our  darling  back  to  us !  " 

187 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Aunt !  aunt !  "  said  Mary,  "  don't  kill  me.  Scold  me 
a  little,  aunt  dear,  only  a  little." 

"  Scold  you,  my  darling  !  Never,  never !  Scold  you  on 
this  happy  Sabbath  morn  !  Oh  !  never,  my  love." 

And  the  foolishness  of  these  two  women  was  so  great 
that  the  Doctor  had  to  go  for  a  walk.  Right  down  the 
garden,  round  the  cow-yard,  and  in  by  the  back  way  to 
the  kitchen,  where  he  met  Frank,  and  told  him  what  had 
happened.  And  there  they  were  at  it  again.  Miss 
Thornton  kneeling,  wiping  poor  Mary's  blistered  feet  be- 
fore the  fire ;  while  the  maid,  foolishly  giggling,  had  got 
possession  of  the  baby,  and  was  talking  more  affectionate 
nonsense  to  it  than  ever  baby  heard  in  this  world  before. 

Mary  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  when  he  gave  her 
his  vast  brown  paw,  what  does  she  do,  but  put  it  to  her 
lips  and  kiss  it  ? — as  if  there  was  not  enough  without  that. 
And,  to  make  matters  worse,  she  quoted  Scripture,  and 
said,  "  Forasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of 
these,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  So  our  good  Doctor 
had  nothing  left  but  to  break  through  that  cloak  of  cyni- 
cism which  he  delighted  to  wear,  (Lord  knows  why  !)  and 
to  kiss  her  on  the  cheek,  and  to  tell  her  how  happy  she 
had  made  them  by  coming  back,  let  circumstances  be 
what  they  might. 

Then  she  told  them,  with  bursts  of  wild  weeping,  what 
those  circumstances  were.  And  at  last,  when  they  were 
all  quieted,  Miss  Thornton  boldly  volunteered  to  go  up 
and  tell  the  Vicar  that  his  darling  was  returned. 

So  she  went  up,  and  Mary  and  the  Doctor  waited  at  the 
bed-room  door  and  listened.  The  poor  old  man  was  far 
gone  beyond  feeling  joy  or  grief  to  any  great  extent. 
When  Miss  Thornton  raised  him  in  his  bed,  and  told  him 
that  he  must  brace  up  his  nerves  to  hear  some  good  news, 
he  smiled  a  weary  smile,  and  Mary  looking  in  saw  that  he 
was  so  altered  that  she  hardly  knew  him. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  lisping  and  hesitating  painfully, 
"  what  you  are  going  to  tell  me,  sister.  She  is  come 
188 


home.  I  knew  she  would  come  at  last.  Please  tell  her 
to  come  to  me  at  once  ;  but  I  can't  see  him  yet.  I  must 
get  stronger  first."  So  Mary  went  in  to  him,  and  Miss 
Thornton  came  out  and  closed  the  door.  And  when 
Mary  came  down  stairs  soon  afterwards  she  could  not  talk 
to  them,  but  remained  a  long  time  silent,  crying  bitterly. 

The  good  news  soon  got  up  to  Major  Buckley's,  and  so 
after  church  they  saw  him  striding  up  the  path,  leading 
the  pony  carrying  his  wife  and  baby.  And  while  they 
were  still  busy  welcoming  her  back,  came  a  ring  at  the 
door,  and  a  loud  voice,  asking  if  the  owner  of  it  might 
come  in. 

Who  but  Tom  Troubridge !  Who  else  was  there  to 
raise  her  four  good  feet  off  the  ground,  and  kiss  her  on 
both  cheeks,  and  call  her  his  darling  littLe  sister !  Who 
else  was  there  who  could  have  changed  their  tears  into 
laughter  so  quick  that  their  merriment  was  wafted  up  to 
the  Vicar's  room,  and  made  him  ring  his  bell,  and  tell 
them  to  send  Tom  up  to  him !  And  who  but  Tom  could 
have  lit  the  old  man's  face  up  with  a  smile,  with  the  his- 
tory of  a  new  colt,  that  my  lord's  mare  Thetis  had  dropped 
last  week  ! 

That  was  her  welcome  home.  To  the  home  she  had 
dreaded  coming  to,  expecting  to  be  received  with  scorn 
and  reproaches.  To  the  home  she  had  meant  to  come  to 
only  as  a  penitent,  to  leave  her  child  there  and  go  forth 
into  the  world  to  die.  And  here  she  found  herself  the 
honoured  guest — treated  as  one  who  had  been  away  on  a 
journey,  whom  they  had  been  waiting  and  praying  for  all 
the  time,  and  who  came  back  to  them  sooner  than  ex- 
pected. None  hold  the  force"  of  domestic  affection  so 
cheap  as  those  who  violate  it  most  rudely.  How  many 
proud  unhappy  souls  are  there  at  this  moment,  voluntarily 
absenting  themselves  from  all  that  love  them  in  the  world, 
because  they  dread  sneers  and  cold  looks  at  home  !  And 
how  many  of  these,  going  back,  would  find  only  tears  of 
joy  to  welcome  them,  and  hear  that  ever  since  their  ab- 
189 


The  Recollections  of 

sence  they  had  been  spoken  of  with  kindness  and  tender- 
ness, and  loved,  perhaps,  above  all  the  others ! 

After  dinner,  when  the  women  were  alone  together, 
Mrs.  Buckley  began, — 

"  Now,  my  dear  Mary,  you  must  hear  all  the  news.  My 
husband  has  had  a  letter  from  Stockbridge." 

"  Ah,  dear  old  Jim  !  "  said  Mary  ;  "  and  how  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  and  Hamlyn  are  quite  well,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley, 
"  and  settled.  He  has  written  such  an  account  of  that 
country  to  Major  Buckley,  that  he,  half  persuaded  before, 
is  now  wholly  determined  to  go  there  himself." 

"  I  heard  of  this  before,"  said  Mary.  "  Am  I  to  lose 
you,  then,  at  once  ?  " 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley  ;  "  I  have  my  ideas. 
Now,  who  do  you  think  is  going  beside  ?  " 

"  Half  Devonshire,  I  should  think,"  said  Mary ;  "  at 
least,  all  whom  I  care  about." 

"  It  would  seem  so,  indeed,  my  poor  girl,"  said  Mrs. 
Buckley  ;  "  for  your  cousin  Troubridge  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  come." 

"  There  was  a  time  when  I  could  have  stopped  him," 
she  thought ;  "  but  that  is  gone  by  now."  And  she  an- 
swered Mrs.  Buckley  : — 

"  Aunt  and  I  will  stay  here,  and  think  of  you  all.  Shall 
we  ever  hear  from  you  ?  It  is  the  other  side  of  the  world, 
is  it  not  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  long  way ;  but  we  must  wait,  and  see  how 
things  turn  out.  We  may  not  have  to  separate  after  all. 
See,  my  dear  ;  are  you  fully  aware  of  your  father's  state  ? 
I  fear  you  have  only  come  home  to  see  the  last  of  him. 
He  probably  will  be  gone  before  this  month  is  out.  You 
see  the  state  he  is  in.  And  when  he  is  gone,  have  you 
reflected  what  to  do  ?  " 

Mary,  weeping  bitterly,  said,  "  No ;  only  that  she  could 
never  live  in  Drumston,  or  anywhere  where  she  was 
known." 

"  That  is  wise,  my  love,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  under 
190 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

the  circumstances.  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  where 
to  go,  Miss  Thornton,  when  you  have  to  leave  the  Vicar- 
age for  a  new  incumbent  ?  " 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,"  answered  Miss  Thornton, 
"  to  go  wherever  Mary  goes,  if  it  be  to  the  other  end  of 
the  earth.  We  will  be  Ruth  and  Naomi,  my  dear.  You 
would  never  get  on  without  me." 

"  That  is  what  I  say,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  Never 
leave  her.  Why  not  come  away  out  of  all  unhappy  asso- 
ciations, and  from  the  scorn  and  pity  of  your  neighbours, 
to  live  safe  and  happy  with  all  the  best  friends  you  have 
in  the  world  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mary.  "  Ah,  if  we  could 
only  do  so  !  " 

"  Come  away  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  with  anima- 
tion ;  "  come  away  with  us,  and  begin  a  new  life.  There 
is  Troubridge  looking  high  and  low  for  a  partner  with 
five  thousand  pounds.  Why  should  not  Miss  Thornton 
and  yourself  be  his  partners  ?  " 

"  Ah  me  !  "  said  Miss  Thornton.  "  And  think  of  the 
voyage  !  But  I  shall  not  decide  on  anything ;  Mary  shall 
decide." 

****** 

Scarcely  more  than  a  week  elapsed  from  the  day  that 
Mary  came  home  when  there  came  a  third  messenger  for 
old  John  Thornton,  and  one  so  peremptory  that  he  arose 
and  followed  it  in  the  dead  of  night.  So,  when  they  came 
to  his  bedside  in  the  morning,  they  found  his  body  there, 
laid  as  it  was  when  he  wished  them  good  night,  but  cold 
and  dead.  He  himself  was  gone,  and  nothing  remained 
but  to  bury  his  body  decently  beside  his  wife's,  in  the  old 
churchyard,  and  to  shed  some  tears,  at  the  thought  that 
never,  by  the  fireside,  or  in  the  solemn  old  church,  they 
should  hear  that  kindly  voice  again. 

And  then  came  the  disturbance  of  household  gods,  and 
the  rupture  of  life-old  associations.     And  although  they 
were  begged  by  the  new  comer  not  to  hurry  or  incommode 
191 


The  Recollections  of 

themselves,   yet  they   too   wished   to  be  gone  from  the 
house  whence  everything  they  loved  had  departed. 

Their  kind  true  friend  Frank  was  presented  with  the 
living,  and  they  accepted  Mrs.  Buckley's  invitation  to  stay 
at  their  house  till  they  should  have  decided  what  to  do. 
It  was  two  months  yet  before  the  Major  intended  to  sail, 
and  long  before  those  two  months  were  past,  Mary  and 
Miss  Thornton  had  determined  that  they  would  not  rend 
asunder  the  last  ties  they  had  this  side  of  the  grave,  but 
would  cast  in  their  lot  with  the  others,  and  cross  the  weary 
sea  with  them  towards  a  more  hopeful  land. 

One  more  scene,  and  we  have  done  with  the  Old  World 
for  many  a  year.  Some  of  these  our  friends  will  never  see 
it  more,  and  those  who  do  will  come  back  with  new 
thoughts  and  associations,  as  strangers  to  a  strange  land. 
Only  those  who  have  done  so  know  how  much  effort  it 
takes  to  say,  "  I  will  go  away  to  a  land  where  none  know 
me  or  care  for  me,  and  leave  for  ever  all  that  I  know  and 
love."  And  few  know  the  feeling  which  comes  upon  all 
men  after  it  is  done, — the  feeling  of  isolation,  almost  of 
terror,  at  having  gone  so  far  out  of  the  bounds  of  ordinary 
life ;  the  feeling  of  self-distrust  and  cowardice  at  being 
alone  and  friendless  in  the  world,  like  a  child  in  the  dark. 
****** 

A  golden  summer's  evening  is  fading  into  a  soft  cloud- 
less summer's  night,  and  Doctor  Mulhaus  stands  upon 
Mount  Edgecombe,  looking  across  the  trees,  across  the 
glassy  harbour,  over  the  tall  men-of-war,  out  beyond  the 
silver  line  of  surf  on  the  breakwater,  to  where  a  tall  ship  is 
rapidly  spreading  her  white  wings,  and  speeding  away  each 
moment  more  rapidly  before  a  fair  wind,  towards  the 
south-west.  He  watches  it  growing  more  dim,  minute  by 
minute,  in  distance  and_  in  darkness,  till  he  can  see  no 
longer  ;  then  brushing  a  tear  from  his  eye  he  says  aloud  : — 

"  There  goes  my  English  microcosm.     All  my  new  Eng- 
lish friends  with  whom  I  was  going  to  pass  the  rest  of  my 
life,  peaceful  and  contented,  as  a  village  surgeon.     Pretty 
192 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

dream,  two  years  long  !  Truly  man  hath  no  sure  abiding 
place  here.  I  will  go  back  to  Prussia,  and  see  if  they  are 
all  dead,  or  only  sleeping." 

So  he  turned  down  the  steep  path  under  the  darkening 
trees,  towards  where  he  could  see  the  town  lights  along  the 
quays,  among  the  crowded  masts. 


Chapter  XVIII 
The  first  Puff  of  the  South  Wind 

A  NEW  heaven  and  a  new  earth  !  Tier  beyond  tier, 
height  above  height,  the  great  wooded  ranges  go  rolling 
away  westward,  till  on  the  lofty  sky-line  they  are  crowned 
with  a  gleam  of  everlasting  snow.  To  the  eastward  they 
sink  down,  breaking  into  isolated  forest-fringed  peaks, 
and  rock-crowned  eminences,  till  with  rapidly  straighten- 
ing lines  they  fade  into  the  broad  grey  plains,  beyond 
which  the  Southern  Ocean  is  visible  by  the  white  sea-haze 
upon  the  sky. 

All  creation  is  new  and  strange.  The  trees,  surpassing 
in  size  the  largest  English  oaks,  are  of  a  species  we  have 
never  seen  before.  The  graceful  shrubs,  the  bright-col- 
oured flowers,  ay,  the  very  grass  itself,  are  of  species  un- 
known in  Europe  ;  while  flaming  lories  and  brilliant  par- 
roquets  fly  whistling,  not  unmusically,  through  the  gloomy 
forest,  and  over  head  in  the  higher  fields  of  air,  still  lit  up 
by  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  countless  cockatoos  wheel  and 
scream  in  noisy  joy,  as  we  may  see  the  gulls  do  about  an 
English  headland. 

To  the  northward  a  great  glen,  sinking  suddenly  from 
the  saddle  on  which  we  stand,  stretches  away  in  long  vista, 
until  it  joins  a  broader  valley,  through  which  we  can  dimly 
see  a  full-fed  river  winding  along  in  gleaming  reaches, 
through  level  meadow  land,  interspersed  with  clumps  of 
timber. 

,  193 


The  Recollections  of 

We  are  in  Australia.  Three  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
south  of  Sydney,  on  the  great  watershed  which  divides  the 
Belloury  from  the  Maryburnong,  since  better  known  as  the 
Snowy-river  of  Gippsland. 

As  the  sun  was  going  down  on  the  scene  I  have  been 
describing,  James  Stockbridge  and  I,  Geoffry  Hamlyn, 
reined  up  our  horses  on  the  ridge  above-mentioned,  and 
gazed  down  the  long  gully  which  lay  stretched  at  our  feet. 
Only  the  tallest  trees  stood  with  their  higher  boughs  glow- 
ing with  the  gold  of  the  departing  day,  and  we  stood  un- 
determined which  route  to  pursue,  and  half  inclined  to 
camp  at  the  next  waterhole  we  should  see.  We  had  lost 
some  cattle,  and  among  others  a  valuable  imported  bull, 
which  we  were  very  anxious  to  recover.  For  five  days  we 
had  been  passing  on  from  run  to  run,  making  inquiries 
without  success,  and  were  now  fifty  long  miles  from  home 
in  a  southerly  direction.  We  were  beyond  the  bounds  of 
all  settlement ;  the  last  station  we  had  been  at  was  twenty 
miles  to  the  north  of  us,  and  the  occupiers  of  it,  as  they 
had  told  us  the  night  before,  had  only  taken  up  their  coun- 
try about  ten  weeks,  and  were  as  yet  the  furthest  pioneers 
to  the  southward. 

At  this  time  Stockbridge  and  I  had  been  settled  in  our 
new  home  about  two  years,  and  were  beginning  to  get 
comfortable  and  contented.  We  had  had  but  little  trouble 
with  the  blacks,  and  having  taken  possession  of  a  fine 
piece  of  country,  were  flourishing  and  well  to  do. 

We  had  never  heard  from  home  but  once,  and  that  was 
from  Tom  Troubridge,  soon  after  our  departure,  telling  us 
that  if  we  succeeded  he  should  follow,  for  that  the  old  place 
seemed  changed  now  we  were  gone.  We  had  neither  of  us 
left  any  near  relations  behind  us,  and  already  we  began 
to  think  that  we  were  cut  off  for  ever  from  old  acquaint- 
ances and  associations,  and  were  beginning  to  be  resigned 
to  it. 

Let  us  return  to  where  he  and  I  were  standing  alone  in 
the  forest.  I  dismounted  to  set  right  some  strap  or  an- 

194 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

other,  and,  instead  of  getting  on  my  horse  again  at  once, 
stood  leaning  against  him,  looking  at  the  prospect,  glad  to 
ease  my  legs  for  a  time,  for  they  were  cramped  with  many 
hours'  riding. 

Stockbridge  sat  in  his  saddle  immoveable  and  silent  as 
a  statue,  and  when  I  looked  in  his  face  I  saw  that  his 
heart  had  travelled  further  than  his  eye  could  reach,  and 
that  he  was  looking  far  beyond  the  horizon  that  bounded 
his  earthly  vision,  away  to  the  pleasant  old  home  which 
was  home  to  us  no  longer. 

"  Jim,"  said  I,  "  I  wonder  what  is  going  on  at  Drum- 
ston  now  ?  " 

"  I  wonder,"  he  said  softly. 

A  pause. 

Below  us,  in  the  valley,  a  mob  of  jackasses  *  were 
shouting  and  laughing  uproariously,  and  a  magpie  was 
chanting  his  noble  vesper  hymn  from  a  lofty  tree. 

"  Jim,"  I  began  again,  "  do  you  ever  think  of  poor  little 
Mary  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  old  boy,  I  do,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  can't  help  it ;  I 
was  thinking  of  her  then — I  am  always  thinking  of  her, 
and,  what's  more,  I  always  shall  be.  Don't  think  me  a 
fool,  old  friend,  but  I  love  that  girl  as  well  now  as  ever  I 
did.  I  wonder  if  she  has  married  that  fellow  Hawker  ?  " 

"  I  fear  there  is  but  little  doubt  of  it,"  I  said ;  "  try  to 
forget  her,  James.  Get  in  a  rage  with  her,  and  be  proud 
about  it ;  you'll  make  all  your  life  unhappy  if  you  don't." 

He  laughed.  "  That's  all  very  well,  Jeff,  but  it's  easier 
said  than  done — Do  you  hear  that?  There  are  cattle 
down  the  gully." 

There  was  some  noise  in  the  air,  beside  the  evening 
rustle  of  the  south  wind  among  the  tree-tops.  Now  it 
sounded  like  a  far-off  hubbub  of  waters,  now  swelled  up 
harmonious,  like  the  booming  of  cathedral  bells  across 
some  rich  old  English  valley  on  a  still  summer's  after- 
noon. 

*  Dacelo  Gigantea. 
195 


The  Recollections  of 

"  There  are  cattle  down  there,  certainly,"  I  said,  "  and 
a  very  large  number  of  them  ;  they  are  not  ours,  depend 
upon  it :  there  are  men  with  them,  too,  or  they  would  not 
make  so  much  noise.  Can  it  be  the  blacks  driving  them 
off  from  the  strangers  we  stayed  with  last  night,  do  you 
think  ?  If  so,  we  had  best  look  out  for  ourselves." 

"  Blacks  could  hardly  manage  such  a  large  mob  as 
there  are  there,"  said  James.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think 
it  is,  old  Jeff ;  it's  some  new  chums  going  to  cross  the 
watershed,  and  look  for  new  country  to  the  south.  If  so, 
let  us  go  down  and  meet  them  :  they  will  camp  down  by 
the  river  yonder." 

James  was  right.  All  doubt  about  what  the  new  com- 
ers were  was  solved  before  we  reached  the  river,  for  we 
could  hear  the  rapid  detonation  of  the  stock-whips  loud 
above  the  lowing  of  the  cattle  ;  so  we  sat  and  watched 
them  debouche  from  the  forest  into  the  broad  river  mead- 
ows in  the  gathering  gloom :  saw  the  scene  so  venerable 
and  ancient,  so  seldom  seen  in  the  Old  World — the  patri- 
archs moving  into  the  desert  with  all  their  wealth,  to  find 
a  new  pasture-ground.  A  simple  primitive  action,  the 
first  and  simplest  act  of  colonization,  yet  producing  such 
great  results  on  the  history  of  the  world,  as  did  the  part- 
ing of  Lot  and  Abraham  in  times  gone  by. 

First  came  the  cattle  lowing  loudly,  some  trying  to  stop 
and  graze  on  the  rich  pasture  after  their  long  day's  travel, 
some  heading  noisily  towards  the  river,  now  beginning  to 
steam  with  the  rising  evening  mist.  Now  a  lordly  bull 
followed  closely  by  two  favourite  heifers,  tries  to  take 
matters  into  his  own  hands,  and  cut  out  a  route  for  him- 
self, but  is  soon  driven  ignominiously  back  in  a  lumbering- 
gallop  by  a  quick-eyed  stockman.  Now  a  silly  calf  takes 
it  into  his  head  to  go  for  a  small  excursion  up  the  range, 
followed,  of  course,  by  his  doting  mother,  and  has  to  be 
headed  in  again,  not  without  muttered  wrath  and  lower- 
ings  of  the  head  from  madame.  Behind  the  cattle  come 
horsemen,  some  six  or  seven  in  number,  and  last,  four 
196 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

drays,  bearing  the  household  goods,  come  crawling  up  the 
pass. 

We  had  time  to  notice  that  there  were  women  on  the 
foremost  dray,  when  it  became  evident  that  the  party  in- 
tended camping  in  a  turn  of  the  river  just  below.  One 
man  kicked  his  feet  out  of  the  stirrups,  and  sitting  loosely 
in  his  saddle,  prepared  to  watch  the  cattle  for  the  first 
few  hours  till  he  was  relieved.  Another  lit  a  fire  against 
a  fallen  tree,  and  while  the  bullock-drivers  were  busy  un- 
yoking their  beasts,  and  the  women  were  clambering  from 
the  dray,  two  of  the  horsemen  separated  from  the  others, 
and  came  forward  to  meet  us. 

Both  of  them  I  saw  were  men  of  vast  stature.  One 
rode  upright,  with  a  military  seat,  while  his  companion 
had  his  feet  out  of  his  stirrups,  and  rode  loosely,  as  if  tired 
with  his  journey.  Further  than  this,  I  could  distinguish 
nothing  in  the  darkening  twilight ;  but,  looking  at  James, 
I  saw  that  he  was  eagerly  scanning  the  strangers,  with 
elevated  eyebrow  and  opened  lips.  Ere  I  could  speak  to 
him,  he  had  dashed  forward  with  a  shout,  and  when  I 
came  up  with  him,  wondering,  I  found  myself  shaking 
hands,  talking  and  laughing,  everything  in  fact  short  of 
crying,  with  Major  Buckley  and  Thomas  Troubridge. 

"  Range  up  alongside  here,  Jeff,  you  rascal,"  said  Tom, 
"  and  let  me  get  a  fair  hug  at  you.  What  do  you  think 
of  this  for  a  lark  ;  eh  ? — to  meet  you  out  here,  all  promisr 
cuous,  in  the  forest,  like  Prince  Arthur !  We  could  not 
go  out  of  our  way  to  see  you,  though  we  knew  where  you 
were  located,  for  we  must  hurry  on  and  get  a  piece  of 
country  we  have  been  told  of  on  the  next  river.  We  are 
going  to  settle  down  close  by  you,  you  see.  We'll  make 
a  new  Drumston  in  the  wilderness." 

"  This  is  a  happy  meeting,  indeed,  old  Tom,"  I  said,  as 
we  rode  towards  the  drays,  after  the  Major  and  James. 
"  We  shall  have  happy  times,  now  we  have  got  some  of 
our  old  friends  round  us.  Who  is  come  with  you  ?  How 
is  Mrs.  Buckley  ?  " 

197 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Mrs.  Buckley  is  as  well  as  ever,  and  as  handsome. 
My  pretty  little  cousin,  Mary  Hawker,  and  old  Miss 
Thornton  are  with  us  ;  the  poor  old  Vicar  is  dead." 

"Mary  Hawker  with  you?"  I  said.  "And  her  hus- 
band, Tom  ?  " 

"  Hardly,  old  friend.  We  travel  in  better  company," 
said  he.  "  George  Hawker  is  transported  for  life." 

"  Alas,  poor  Mary  !  "  I  answered.     "  And  what  for  ?  " 

"  Coining,"  he  answered.  "  I'll  tell  you  the  story  an- 
other time.  To-night  let  us  rejoice." 

I  could  not  but  watch  James,  who  was  riding  before  us, 
to  see  how  he  would  take  this  news.  The  Major,  I  saw, 
was  telling  him  all  about  it,  but  James  seemed  to  take  it 
quite  quietly,  only  nodding  his  head  as  the  other  went  on. 
I  knew  how  he  would  feel  for  his  old  love,  and  I  turned 
and  said  to  Troubridge, —  ^ 

"  Jim  will  be  very  sorry  to  hear  of  this.  I  wish  she  had 
married  him." 

"  That's  what  we  all  say,"  said  Tom.  "  I  am  sorry  for 
poor  Jim.  He  is  about  the  best  man  I  know,  take  him  all 
in  all.  If  that  fellow  were  to  die,  she  might  have  him  yet, 
Hamlyn." 

We.  reached  the  drays.  There  sat  Mrs.  Buckley  on  a 
log,  a  noble,  happy  matron,  laughing  at  her  son  as  he 
toddled  about,  busy  gathering  sticks  for  the  fire.  Beside 
her  was  Mary,  paler  and  older-looking  than  when  we  had 
seen  her  last,  with  her  child  upon  her  lap,  looking  sad  and 
worn.  But  a  sadder  sight  for  me  was  old  Miss  Thornton, 
silent  and  frightened,  glancing  uneasily  round,  as  though 
expecting  some  new  horror.  No  child  for  her  to  cling  to 
and  strive  for.  No  husband  to  watch  for  and  anticipate 
every  wish.  A  poor,  timid,  nervous  old  maid,  thrown 
adrift  in  her  old  age  upon  a  strange  sea  of  anomalous 
wonders.  Every  old  favourite  prejudice  torn  up  by  the 
roots.  All  old  formulas  of  life  scattered  to  the  winds  ! 

She  told  me  in  confidence  that  evening  that  she  had 
been  in  sad  trouble  all  day.  At  dinner-time  some  naked 
198 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

blacks  had  come  up  to  the  dray,  and  had  frightened  and 
shocked  her.  Then  the  dray  had  been  nearly  upset,  and 
her  hat  crushed  among  the  trees.  A  favourite  and  pre- 
cious bag,  which  never  left  her,  had  been  dropped  in  the 
water ;  and  her  Prayer-book,  a  parting  gift  from  Lady 
Kate,  had  been  utterly  spoiled.  A  hundred  petty  annoy- 
ances and  griefs,  which  Mary  barely  remarked,  and  which 
brave  Mrs.  Buckley,  in  her  strong  determination  of  follow- 
ing her  lord  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  of  being  as 
much  help  and  as  little  incumbrance  to  him  as  she  could, 
had  laughed  at,  were  to  her  great  misfortunes.  Why, 
the  very  fact,  as  she  told  me,  of  sitting  on  the  top  of  a 
swinging  jolting  dray  was  enough  to  keep  her  in  a  con- 
tinual state  of  agony  and  terror,  so  that  when  she  alit  at 
night,  and  sat  down,  she  could  not  help  weeping  silently, 
dreading  lest  any  one  should  see  her. 

Suddenly,  Mary  was  by  her  side,  kneeling  down. 

"  Aunt,"  she  said,  "  dearest  aunt,  don't  break  down.  It 
is  all  my  wicked  fault.  You  will  break  my  heart,  auntie 
dear,  if  you  cry  like  that.  Why  did  ever  I  bring  you  on 
this  hideous  journey  ?  " 

"  How  could  I  leave  you  in  your  trouble,  my  love  ?  " 
said  Miss  Thornton.  "  You  did  right  to  come,  my  love. 
We  are  among  old  friends.  We  have  come  too  far  for 
trouble  to  reach  us.  We  shall  soon  have  a  happy  home 
again  now,  and  all  will  be  well." 

So  she,  who  needed  so  much  comforting  herself,  cour- 
ageously dried  her  tears  and  comforted  Mary.  And  when 
we  reached  the  drays,  she  was  sitting  with  her  hands 
folded  before  her  in  serene  misery. 

"  Mary,"  said  the  Major,  "  here  are  two  old  friends." 

He  had  no  time  to  say  more,  for  she,  recognising  Jim, 
sprang  up,  and,  running  to  him,  burst  into  hysterical  weep- 
ing. 

"  Oh,  my  good  old  friend  ! "    she  cried  ;   "  oh,  my  dear 
old  friend !     Oh,  to  meet  you  here  in  this  lonely  wilder- 
ness !     Oh,  James,  my  kind  old  brother  !  " 
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The  Recollections  of 

I  saw  how  his  big  heart  yearned  to  comfort  his  old 
sweetheart  in  her  Distress.  Not  a  selfish  thought  found 
place  with  him.  He  could  only  see  his  old  love  injured 
and  abandoned,  and  nought  more. 

"  Mary,"  he  said,  "  what  happiness  to  see  you  among  all 
your  old  friends  come  to  live  among  us  again !  It  is  al- 
most too  good  to  believe  in.  Believe  me,  you  will  get  to 
like  this  country  as  well  as  old  Devon  soon,  though  it 
looks  so  strange  just  now.  And  what  a  noble  boy,  too  ! 
We  will  make  him  the  best  bushman  in  the  country  when 
he  is  old  enough." 

So  he  took  the  child  of  his  rival  to  his  bosom,  and  when 
the  innocent  little  face  looked  into  his,  he  would  see  no 
likeness  to  George  Hawker  there.  He  only  saw  the 
mother's  countenance  as  he  knew  her  as  a  child  in  years 
gone  by. 

"  Is  nobody  going  to  notice  me  or  my  boy,  I  wonder  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  Come  here  immediately,  Mr.  Stock- 
bridge,  before  we  quarrel." 

In  a  very  short  time  all  our  party  were  restored  to  their 
equanimity,  and  were  laying  down  plans  for  pleasant 
meetings  hereafter.  And  long  after  the  women  had  gone 
to  bed  in  the  drays,  and  the  moon  was  riding  high  in  the 
heavens,  James  and  myself,  Troubridge  and  the  Major,  sat 
before  the  fire  ;  and  we  heard,  for  the  first  time,  of  all  that 
had  gone  on  since  we  left  England,  and  of  all  poor  Mary's 
troubles.  Then  each  man  rolled  himself  in  his  blanket, 
and  slept  soundly  under  the  rustling  forest-boughs. 

In  the  bright  cool  morning,  ere  the  sun  was  up,  and  the 
belated  opossum  had  run  back  to  his  home  in  the  hollow 
log,  James  and  I  were  a-foot  looking  after  our  horses. 
We  walked  silently  side  by  side  for  a  few  minutes,  until 
he  turned  and  said  : — 

"  Jeff,  old  fellow,  of  course  you  will  go  on  with  them, 
and  stay  until  they  are  settled  ?  " 

"  Jim,  old  fellow,"  I  replied,  "  of  course  you  will  go  on 
with  them,  and  stay  till  they  are  settled  ?  " 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

He  pondered  a  few  moments,  and  then  said,  "  Well, 
why  not  ?  I  suppose  she  can  be  still  to  me  what  she  al- 
ways was  ?  Yes,  I  will  go  with  them." 

When  we  returned  to  the  dray  we  found  them  all  astir, 
preparing  for  a  start.  Mrs.  Buckley,  with  her  gown  tucked 
up,  was  preparing  breakfast,  as  if  she  had  been  used  to  the 
thing  all  her  life.  She  had  an  imperial  sort  of  way  of 
manoeuvring  a  frying-pan,  which  did  one  good  to  see.  It 
is  my  belief,  that  if  that  woman  had  been  called  upon  to 
groom  a  horse,  she'd  have  done  it  in  a  ladylike  way. 

While  James  went  among  the  party  to  announce  his 
intention  of  going  on  with  them,  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
looking  at  the  son  and  heir  of  all  the  Buckleys.  He  was  a 
sturdy,  handsome  child  about  five  years  old,  and  was  now 
standing  apart  from  the  others,  watching  a  bullock-driver 
yoking-up  his  beast.  I  am  very  fond  of  children,  and 
take  great  interest  in  studying  their  characters ;  so  I  stood, 
not  unamused,  behind  this  youngster,  as  he  stood  looking 
with  awe  and  astonishment  at  the  man,  as  he  managed 
the  great,  formidable  beasts,  and  brought  each  one  into 
his  place ;  not,  however,  without  more  oaths  than  one 
would  care  to  repeat.  Suddenly  the  child,  turning  and 
seeing  me  behind  him,  came  back,  and  took  my  hand. 

"  Why  is  he  so  angry  with  them  ?  "  the  child  asked  at 
once.  "  Why  does  he  talk  to  them  like  that  ?  " 

"  He  is  swearing  at  them,"  I  said,  "  to  make  them  stand 
in  their  places." 

"  But  they  dont  understand  him,"  said  the  boy.  "  That 
black  and  white  one  would  have  gone  where  he  wanted  it 
in  a  minute  ;  but  it  couldn't  understand,  you  know ;  so  he 
hit  it  over  the  nose.  Why  don't  he  find  out  how  they 
talk  to  one  another?  Then  he'd  manage  them  much 
better.  He  is  very  cruel." 

"  He  does  not  know  any  better,"  I  said.  "  Come  with 
me  and  get  some  flowers." 

"  Will  you  take  me  up  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  mustn't  run  about, 
for  fear  of  snakes." 

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The  Recollections  of 

I  took  him  up,  and  we  went  to  gather  flowers. 

"  Your  name  is  Samuel  Buckley,  I  think,"  said  I. 

"  How  did  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  remember  you  when  you  were  a  baby,"  I  said.  "  I 
hope  you  may  grow  to  be  as  good  a  man  as  your  father, 
my  lad.  See,  there  is  mamma  calling  for  us." 

"  And  how  far  south  are  you  going,  Major  ?  "  I  asked 
at  breakfast. 

"  No  further  than  we  can  help,"  said  the  Major.  "  I 
stayed  a  night  with  my  old  friend  Captain  Brentwood,  by 
the  way  ;  and  there  I  found  a  man  who  knew  of  some  un- 
occupied country  down  here,  which  he  had  seen  in  some 
bush  expedition.  We  found  the  ground  he  mentioned 
taken  up  ;  but  he  says  there  is  equally  good  on  the  next 
river.  I  have  bought  him  and  his  information." 

"  We  saw  good  country  away  to  the  south  yesterday," 
I  said.  "  But  are  you  wise  to  trust  this  man  ?  Do  you 
know  anything  about  him  ?  " 

"  Brentwood  has  known  him  these  ten  years,  and  trusts 
him  entirely  ;  though,  I  believe,  he  has  been  a  convict.  If 
you  are  determined  to  come  with  us,  Stockbridge,  I  will 
call  him  up,  and  examine  him  about  the  route.  William 
Lee,  just  step  here  a  moment." 

A  swarthy  and  very  powerfully  built  man  came  up.  No 
other  than  the  man  I  have  spoken  of  under  that  name  be- 
fore. He  was  quite  unknown  either  to  James  or  myself, 
although,  as  he  told  us  afterwards,  he  had  recognised  us  at 
once,  but  "kept  out  of  our  sight  as  much  as  possible,  till  by 
the  Major's  summons  he  was  forced  to  come  forward. 

"  What  route  to-day,  William  ?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"  South  and  by  east  across  the  range.  We  ought  to  get 
down  to  the  river  by  night,  if  we're  lucky." 

So,  while  the  drays  were  getting  under  way,  the  Major, 
Tom,  James,  and  myself  rode  up  to  the  saddle  where  we 
had  stood  the  night  before,  and  gazed  southeast  across 
the  broad  prospect,  in  the  direction  that  the  wanderers 
were  to  go. 

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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  That,"  said  the  Major,  "  to  the  right  there,  must  be 
the  great  glen  out  of  which  the  river  comes ;  and  there, 
please  God,  we  will  rest  our  weary  bodies  and  build  our 
house.  Odd,  isn't  it,  that  I  should  have  been  saved  from 
shot  and  shell  when  so  many  better  men  were  put  away  in 
the  trench,  to  come  and  end  my  days  in  a  place  like  this  ? 
Well,  I  think  we  shall  have  a  pleasant  life  of  it,  watching 
the  cattle  spread  further  across  the  plains  year  after  year, 
and  seeing  the  boy  grow  up  to  be  a  good  man.  At  all 
events,  for  weal  or  woe,  I  have  said  good-bye  to  old  Eng- 
land, for  ever  and  a  day." 

The  cattle  were  past,  and  the  drays  had  arrived  at 
where  we  stood.  With  many  a  hearty  farewell,  having 
given  a  promise  to  come  over  and  spend  Christmas  day 
with  them,  I  turned  my  horse's  head  homewards  and  went 
on  my  solitary  way. 


Chapter  XIX 
I  hire  a  new  Horsebreaker 

I  MUST  leave  them  to  go  their  way  towards  their  new 
home,  and  follow  my  own  fortunes  a  little,  for  that  after- 
noon I  met  with  an  adventure  quite  trifling  indeed,  but 
which  is  not  altogether  without  interest  in  this  story. 

I  rode  on  till  high  noon,  till  having  crossed  the  valley  of 
the  Belloury,  and  followed  up  one  of  its  tributary  creeks,  I 
had  come  on  to  the  water  system  of  another  main  river, 
and  the  rapid  widening  of  the  gully  whose  course  I  was 
pursuing  assured  me  that  I  could  not  be  far  from  the  main 
stream  itself.  At  length  I  entered  a  broad  flat  intersected 
by  a  deep  and  tortuous  creek,  and  here  I  determined  to 
camp  till  the  noon-day  heat  was  past,  before  I  continued 
my  journey,  calculating  that  I  could  easily  reach  home  the 
next  day. 

Having  watered  my  horse,  I  turned  him  loose  for  a 
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The  Recollections  of 

graze,  and,  making  such  a  dinner  as  was  possible  under 
the  circumstances,  I  lit  a  pipe  and  lay  down  on  the  long 
grass,  under  the  flowering  wattle-trees,  smoking,  and 
watching  the  manoeuvres  of  a  little  tortoise,  who  was  dis- 
porting himself  in  the  waterhole  before  me.  Getting  tired 
of  that  I  lay  back  on  the  grass,  and  watched  the  green 
leaves  waving  and  shivering  against  the  clear  blue  sky, 
given  up  entirely  to  the  greatest  of  human  enjoyments — 
the  after-dinner  pipe,  the  pipe  of  peace. 

Which  is  the  pleasantest  pipe  in  the  day  ?  We  used  to 
say  at  home  that  a  man  should  smoke  but  four  pipes  a- 
day :  the  matutinal,  another  I  don't  specify,  the  post- 
prandial, and  the  symposial  or  convivial,  which  last  may 
be  infinitely  subdivided,  according  to  the  quantity  of  drink 
taken.  But  in  Australia  this  division  won't  obtain,  partic- 
ularly when  you  are  on  the  tramp.  Just  when  you  wake 
from  a  dreamless  sleep  beneath  the  forest  boughs,  as 
the  east  begins  to  blaze,  and  the  magpie  gets  musical,  you 
dash  to  the  embers  of  last  night's  fire,  and  after  blowing 
many  fire-sticks  find  one  which  is  alight,  and  proceed  to 
send  abroad  on  the  morning  breeze  the  scene  of  last 
night's  dottle.  Then,  when  breakfast  is  over  and  the 
horses  are  caught  up  and  saddled,  and  you  are  jogging 
across  the  plain,  with  the  friend  of  your  heart  beside  you, 
the  burnt  incense  once  more  goes  up,  and  conversation  is 
unnecessary.  At  ten  o'clock  when  you  cross  the  creek 
(you  always  cross  a  creek  about  ten  if  you  are  in  a  good 
country),  you  halt  and  smoke.  So  after  dinner  in  the 
lazy  noon-tide,  one  or  perhaps  two  pipes  are  necessary, 
with,  perhaps,  another  about  four  in  the  afternoon,  and 
last, -and  perhaps  best  of  all,  are  the  three  or  four  you 
smoke  before  the  fire  at  night,  when  the  day  is  dying  and 
the  opossums  are  beginning  to  chatter  in  the  twilight. 
So  that  you  find  that  a  fig  of  Barret's  twist,  seventeen  to 
the  pound,  is  gone  in  the  mere  hours  of  day-light,  without 
counting  such  a  casualty  as  waking  up  cold  in  the  night, 
and  going  at  it  again. 

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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

So  I  lay  on  my  back  dreaming,  wondering  why  a  locust 
who  was  in  full  screech  close  by,  took  the  trouble  to  make 
that  terrible  row  when  it  was  so  hot,  and  hoping  that  his 
sides  might  be  sore  with  the  exertion,  when  to  my  great 
astonishment  I  heard  the  sound  of  feet  brushing  through 
the  grass  towards  me.  "  Black  fellow,"  I  said  to  myself ; 
but  no,  those  were  shodden  feet  that  swept  along  so 
wearily.  I  raised  myself  on  my  elbow,  with  my  hand  on 
my  pistol,  and  reconnoitred. 

There  approached  me  from  down  the  creek  a  man, 
hardly  reaching  the  middle  size,  lean  and  active-looking, 
narrow  in  the  flanks,  thin  in  the  jaws,  his  knees  well  apart ; 
with  a  keen  bright  eye  in  his  head.  His  clothes  looked  as 
if  they  had  belonged  to  ten  different  men ;  and  his  gait 
was  heavy,  and  his  face  red,  as  if  from  a  long  hurried 
walk ;  but  I  said  at  once,  "  Here  comes  a  riding  man,  at 
all  events,  be  it  for  peace  or  war." 

"  Good  day,  lad,"  said  I. 

"  Good  day,  sir." 

"  You're  rather  off  the  tracks  for  a  foot-man,"  said  I. 
"  Are  you  looking  for  your  horse  ?  " 

"  Deuce  a  horse  have  I  got  to  my  name,  sir, — have  you 
got  a  feed  of  anything?  I'm  nigh  starved." 

"  Ay,  surely  :  the  tea's  cold ;  put  it  on  the  embers  and 
warm  it  a  bit;  here's  beef,  and  damper  too,  plenty." 

I  lit  another  pipe  and  watched  his  meal.  I  like  feeding 
a  real  hungry  man  ;  it's  almost  as  good  as  eating  oneself 
— sometimes  better. 

When  the  edge  of  his  appetite  was  taken  off  he  began 
to  talk  ;  he  said  first — 

"  Got  a  station  anywheres  about  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  Hamlyn  of  the  Durnongs,  away  by  Maneroo." 

"  Oh  !  ay  ;  I  know  you,  sir  ;  which  way  have  you  come 
this  morning  ?• " 

"  Southward  ;  I  crossed  the  Belloury  about  seven  o'clock." 

"  That,  indeed  !     You  haven't  seen  anything  of   three 
bullock  drays  and  a  mob  of  cattle  going  south  ?  " 
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The  Recollections  of 

"  Yes  !  I  camped  with  such  a  lot  last  night !  " 

"  Not  Major  Buckley's  lot  ?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  And  how  far  were  they  on  ?  " 

"  They  crossed  the  range  at  daylight  this  morning ; — 
they're  thirty  miles  away  by  now." 

He  threw  his  hat  on  the  ground  with  an  oath  :  "  I  shall 
never  catch  them  up.  I  daren't  cross  that  range  on  foot 
into  the  new  country,  and  those  black  devils  lurking  round. 
He  shouldn't  have  left  me  like  that ; — all  my  own  fault, 
though,  for  staying  behind  !  No,  no,  he's  true  enough — • 
all  my  own  fault.  But  I  wouldn't  have  left  him  so, 
neither  ;  but,  perhaps,  he  don't  think  I'm  so  far  behind." 

I  saw  that  the  man  was  in  earnest,  for  his  eyes  were 
swimming ; — he  was  too  dry  for  tears ;  but  though  he 
looked  a  desperate  scamp,  I  couldn't  help  pitying  him  and 
saying, — 

"  You  seem  vexed  you  couldn't  catch  them  up ;  were 
you  going  along  with  the  Major,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  wasn't  hired  with  him  ;  but  an  old  mate  of 
mine,  Bill  Lee,  is  gone  along  with  him  to  show  him  some 
country,  and  I  was  going  to  stick  to  him  and  see  if  the 
Major  would  take  me  ;  we  haven't  been  parted  for  many 
years,  not  Bill  and  I  haven't ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  that 
he'll  think  I've  slipped  away  from  him,  instead  of  follow- 
ing him  fifty  mile  on  foot  to  catch  him.  Well  !  it  can't 
be  helped  now  ;  I  must  look  round  and  get  a  job  some- 
where till  I  get  a  chance  to  join  him.  Were  you  travel- 
ling with  them,  sir  ?  " 

"No,  I'm  after  some  cattle  I've  lost;  a  fine  imported 
bull,  too, — worse  luck  !  We'll  never  see  him  again,  I'm 
afraid,  and  if  I  do  find  them,  how  I  am  to  get  them  home 
single-handed  I  don't  know." 

"  Do  you  mean  a  short-horned  Durham  bull  with  a  key 

brand?     Why,  if  that's  him,  I  can  lay  you  on  to  him  at 

once;  he's   up  at  Jamieson's,  here   to   the  west.     I  was 

staying  at  Watson's  last  night,  and  one  of  Jamieson's  men 

206 


stayed  in  the  hut — a  young  hand ;  and,  talking  about 
beasts,  he  said  that  there  was  a  fine  short-horned  bull 
come  on  to  their  run  with  a  mob  of  heifers  and  cows,  and 
they  couldn't  make  out  who  they  belonged  to  ;  they  were 
all  different  brands." 

"  That's  our  lot  for  a  thousand,"  says  I ;  "  a  lot  of  store 
cattle  we  bought  this  year  from  the  Hunter,  and  haven't 
branded  yet, — more  shame  to  us." 

"  If  you  could  get  a  horse  and  saddle  from  Jamieson's, 
sir,"  said  he,  "  I  could  give  you  a  hand  home  with  them  : 
I'd  like  to  get  a  job  somehow,  and  I  am  well  used  to  cattle." 

"  Done  with  you,"  said  I ;  "  Jamieson's  isn't  ten  miles 
from  here,  and  we  can  do  that  to-night  if  we  look  sharp. 
Come  along,  my  lad." 

So  I  caught  up  the  horse,  and  away  we  went.  Starting 
at  right  angles  with  the  sun,  which  was  nearly  overhead, 
and  keeping  to  the  left  of  him — holding  such  a  course,  as 
he  got  lower,  that  an  hour  and  half,  or  thereabouts,  before 
setting  he  should  be  in  my  face,  and  at  sundown  a  little  to 
the  left ;  which  is  the  best  direction  I  can  give  you  for  go- 
ing about  due  west  in  November,  without  a  compass — 
which,  by  the  way,  you  always  ought  to  have. 

My  companion  was  foot-sore,  so  I  went  slowly ;  he, 
however,  shambled  along  bravely  when  his  feet  got  warm. 
He  was  a  talkative,  lively  man,  and  chattered  continually. 

"  You've  got  a  nice  place  up  at  the  Durnongs,  sir,"  said 
he  ;  "I  stayed  in  your  huts  one  night.  It's  the  comfort- 
ablest  bachelor  station  on  this  side.  You've  got  a  smart 
few  sheep,  I  expect  ?  " 

"  Twenty- five  thousand.  Do  you  know  these  parts 
well  ?  " 

"  I  knew  that  country  of  yours  long  before  any  of  it  was 
took  up." 

"  You've  been  a  long  while  in  the  country,  then  ?  " 

"  I  was  sent  out  when  I  was  eighteen ;  spared,  as  the 
old  judge  said,  on  account  of  my  youth :  that's  eleven 
years  ago." 

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The  Recollections  of 

"  Spared,  eh  ?     It  was  something  serious,  then." 

"  Trifling  enough  :  only  for  having  a  rope  in  my  hand." 

"  They  wouldn't  lag  a  man  for  that, "'said  I. 

"  Ay,  but,"  he  replied,  "  there  "was  a  horse  at  the  end  of 
the  rope.  I  was  brought  up  in  a  training  stable,  and  some- 
how there's  something  in  the  smell  of  a  stable  is  sure  to 
send  a  man  wrong  if  he  don't  take  care.  I  got  betting 
and  drinking,  too,  as  young  chaps  wall,  and  lost  my  place, 
and  got  from  bad  to  worse  till  I  shook  a  nag,  and  got 
bowled  out  and  lagged.  That's  about  my  history,  sir ; 
will  you  give  me  a  job  now  ?  "  And  he  looked  up,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  Ay,  why  not?  "  said  I.  "  Because  you  tried  hard  to 
go  to  the  devil  when  you  were  young  and  foolish,  it  don't 
follow  that  you  should  pursue  that  line  of  conduct  all  your 
life.  You've  been  in  a  training  stable,  eh  ?  If  you  can 
break  horses,  I  may  find  you  something  to  do." 

"  I'll  break  horses  against  any  man  in  this  country — 
though  that's  not  saying  much,  for  I  ain't  seen  not  what 
I  call  a  breaker  since  I've  been  here ;  as  for  riding,  I'd 
ridden  seven  great  winners  before  I  was  eighteen ;  and 
that's  what  ne'er  a  man  alive  can  say.  Ah,  those  were 
the  rosy  times  !  Ah  for  old  Newmarket !  " 

"  Are  you  a  Cambridgeshire  man,  then  ?  " 

"Me?  Oh,  no;  I'm  a  Devonshire  man.  I  come  near 
from  where  Major  Buckley  lived  some  years.  Did  you 
notice  a  pale,  pretty-looking  woman,  was  with  him — Mrs. 
Hawker  ?  " 

I  grew  all  attention.     "  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  noticed  her." 

"  I  knew  her  husband  well,"  he  said,  "  and  an  awful 
rascal  he  was :  he  was  lagged  for  coining,  though  he 
might  have  been  for  half-a-dozen  things  besides." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  I ;  "  and  is  he  in  the  colony  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he's  over  the  water,  I  expect." 

"  In  Van  Diemen's  Land,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Just  so,"  he  said ;  <;  he  had  better  not  show  Bill  Lee 
much  oi  his  face,  or  there'll  be  mischief." 
208 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  Lee  owes  him  a  grudge,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  that,"  said  my  communicative  friend,  "  but 
I  don't  think  that  Hawker  will  show  much  where  Lee  is." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  I  thought  to  myself.  "  I 
hope  Mary  may  not  have  some  trouble  with  her  husband 
still." 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  place  Major  Buckley  comes 
from  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Drumston." 

"  And  you  belong  there  too  ?  "  I  knew  very  well,  how- 
ever, that  he  did  not,  or  I  must  have  known  him. 

"  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  Okehampton  is  my  native  place. 
But  you  talk  a  little  Devon  yourself,  sir." 

The  conversation  came  to  a  close,  for  we  heard  the 
barking  of  dogs,  and  saw  the  station  where  we  were  to 
spend  the  night.  In  the  morning  I  went  home,  and  my 
new  acquaintance,  who  called  himself  Dick,  along  with 
me.  Finding  that  he  was  a  ,first-rate  rider,  and  gentle 
and  handy  among  horses,  I  took  him  into  my  service  per- 
manently, and  soon  got  to  like  him  very  well. 


Chapter  XX 
A  warm  Christmas  Day 

ALL  through  November  and  part  of  December,  I  and 
our  Scotch  overseer,  Georgy  Kyle,  were  busy  as  bees 
among  the  sheep.  Shearers  were  very  scarce,  and  the 
poor  sheep  got  fearfully  "  tomahawked  "  by  the  new 
hands,  who  had  been  a  very  short  time  from  the  barracks. 
Dick,  however,  my  new  acquaintance,  turned  out  a  valu- 
able ally,  getting  through  more  sheep  and  taking  off  his 
fleece  better  than  any  man  in  the  shed.  The  prisoners,  of 
course,  would  not  work  effectually  without  extra  wages, 
and  thus  gave  a  deal  of  trouble  ;  knowing  that  there  was 
no  fear  of  my  sending  them  to  the  magistrate  (fifty  miles 
209 


The  Recollections  of 

off)  during  such  a  busy  time.  However,  all  evils  must 
come  to  an  end  some  time  or  another,  and  so  did  shear- 
ing, though  it  was  nearly  Christmas  before  our  wool  was 
pressed  and  ready  for  the  drays. 

Then  came  a  breathing  time.  So  I  determined,  hav- 
ing heard  nothing  of  James,  to  go  over  and  spend  my 
Christmas  with  the  Buckleys,  and  see  how  they  were  get- 
ting on  at  their  new  station  ;  and  about  noon  on  the  day 
before  Boxing-day,  having  followed  the  track  made  by 
their  drays  from  the  place  I  had  last  parted  with  them,  I 
reined  up  on  the  cliffs  above  a  noble  river,  and  could  see 
their  new  huts,  scarce  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  stream. 

They  say  that  Christmas-day  is  the  hottest  day  in  the 
year  in  those  countries,  but  some  days  in  January  are,  I 
think,  generally  hotter.  To-day,  however,  was  as  hot  as 
a  salamander  could  wish.  All  the  vast  extent  of  yellow 
plain  to  the  eastward  quivered  beneath  a  fiery  sky,  and 
every  little  eminence  stood  like  an  island  in  a  lake  of 
mirage.  Used  as  I  had  got  to  this  phenomenon,  I  was 
often  tempted  that  morning  to  turn  a  few  hundred  yards 
from  my  route,  and  give  my  horse  a  drink  at  one  of  the 
broad  glassy  pools  that  seemed  to  lie  right  and  left.  Once 
the  faint  track  I  was  following  headed  straight  towards 
one  of  these  apparent  sheets  of  water,  and  I  was  even 
meditating  a  bathe,  but,  lo  !  when  I  was  a  hundred  yards 
or  so  off,  it  began  to  dwindle  and  disappear,  and  I  found 
nothing  but  the  same  endless  stretch  of  grass,  burnt  up 
by  the  midsummer  sun. 

For  many  miles  I  had  distinguished  the  new  huts, 
placed  at  the  apex  of  a  great  cape  of  the  continent  of  tim- 
ber which  ran  down  from  the  mountains  into  the  plains. 
I  thought  they  had  chosen  a  strange  place  for  their  habi- 
tation, as  there  appeared  no  signs  of  a  water-course  near 
it.  It  was  not  till  I  pulled  up  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
of  my  destination  that  I  heard  a  hoarse  roar  as  if  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  found  that  I  was  standing  on 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

the  edge  of  a  glen  about  four  hundred  feet  deep,  through 
which  a  magnificent  snow-fed  river  poured  ceaselessly, 
here  flashing  bright  among  bars  of  rock,  there  lying  in 
dark,  deep  reaches,  under  tall,  white-stemmed  trees. 

The  scene  was  so  beautiful  and  novel  that  I  paused  and 
gazed  at  it.  Across  the  glen,  behind  the  houses,  rose  up 
a  dark  mass  of  timbered  ranges,  getting  higher  and  steeper 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  while  to  the  north-east  the 
river's  course  might  be  traced  through  the  plains  by  the 
timber  that  fringed  the  water's  edge,  and  sometimes 
feathered  some  tributary  gully  almost  to  the  level  of  the 
flat  lofty  table-land.  On  either  side  of  it,  down  behind 
down  folded  one  over  the  other,  and,  bordered  by  great 
forests,  led  the  eye  towards  the  river's  source,  till  the 
course  of  the  deep  valley  could  no  longer  be  distinguished, 
lost  among  the  distant  ranges ;  but  above  where  it  had 
disappeared,  rose  a  tall  blue  peak  with  streaks  of  snow. 

I  rode  down  a  steep  pathway,  and  crossed  a  broad 
gravelly  ford.  As  my  horse  stopped  to  drink  I  looked  de- 
lighted up  the  vista  which  opened  on  my  sight.  The  river, 
partly  overshadowed  by  tall  trees,  was  hurrying  and  spout- 
ing through  upright  columns  of  basalt,  which  stood  in 
groups  everywhere  like  the  pillars  of  a  ruined  city ;  in 
some  places  solitary,  in  others,  clustered  together  like  fan- 
tastic buildings ;  while  a  hundred  yards  above  was  an 
island,  dividing  the  stream,  on  which,  towering  above  the 
variety  of  low  green  shrubs  which  covered  it,  three  noble 
fern  trees  held  their  plumes  aloft,  shaking  with  the  con- 
cussion of  the  falling  water. 

I  crossed  the  river.  A  gully,  deep  at  first,  but  getting 
rapidly  shallower,  led  up  by  a  steep  ascent  to  the  table- 
land above,  and  as  I  reached  the  summit  I  found  myself 
at  Major  Buckley's  front  door.  They  had,  with  good 
taste,  left  such  trees  as  stood  near  the  house — a  few  deep- 
shadowed  light-woods  and  black  wattles,  which  formed 
pretty  groups  in  what  I  could  see  was  marked  out  for  a 
garden.  Behind,  the  land  began  to  rise,  at  first,  in  park- 


The  Recollections  of 

like  timbered  forest  glades,  and  further  back,  closing  into 
dense  deep  woodlands. 

"  What  a  lovely  place  they  will  make  of  this  in  time  !  " 
I  said  to  myself ;  but  I  had  not  much  time  for  cogitation. 
A  loud,  cheerful  voice  shouted  :  "  Hamlyn,  you  are  wel- 
come to  Baroona ! "  and  close  to  me  I  saw  the  Major, 
carrying  his  son  and  heir  in  his  arms,  advancing  to  meet 
me  from  the  house-door. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  Baroona !  "  echoed  the  boy ; 
"  and  a  merry  Christmas  and  a  happy  New-year  to  you  !  " 

I  went  into  the  house  and  was  delighted  to  find  what 
a  change  a  few  weeks  of  busy,  quiet,  and  home  had  made 
in  the  somewhat  draggle-tailed  and  disconsolate  troop 
that  I  had  parted  with  on  their  road.  Miss  Thornton, 
with  her  black  mittens,  white  apron,  and  spectacles,  had 
found  herself  a  cool  corner  by  the  empty  fire-place,  and 
was  stitching  away  happily  at  baby  linen.  Mrs.  Buckley, 
in  the  character  of  a  duchess,  was  picking  raisins,  and 
Mary  was  helping  her  ;  and,  as  I  entered,  laughing  loudly, 
they  greeted  me  kindly  with  all  the  old  sacred  good  wishes 
of  the  season. 

"  I  very  much  pity  you,  Mr.  Hamlyn,"  said  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley, "  at  having  outlived  the  novelty  of  being  scorched  to 
death  on  Christmas-day.  My  dear  husband,  please  re- 
fresh me  with  reading  the  thermometer !  " 

"  One  hundred  and  nine  in  the  shade,"  replied  the 
Major,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Ah,  dear !  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  If  the  dear  old 
rheumatic  creatures  from  the  alms-house  at  Clere  could 
only  spend  to-morrow  with  us,  how  it  would  warm  their 
old  bones  !  Fancy  how  they  are  crouching  before  their 
little  pinched  grate  just  now ! " 

"  Hardly  that,  Mrs.  Buckley,"  I  said  laughing ;  "  they 
are  all  snug  in  bed  now.  It  is  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, or  thereabouts,  at  home,  you  must  remember.  Miss 
Thornton,  I  hope  you  have  got  over  your  journey." 

"  Yes,  and  I  can  laugh  at  all  my  mishaps  now,"  she  re- 

212 


Geoft'ry  Hamlyn 

plied  ;  "  I  have  just  got  homely  and  comfortable  here,  but 
we  must  make  one  more  move,  and  that  will  be  the  last 
for  me.  Mary  and  Mr.  Troubridge  have  taken  up  their 
country  to  the  south-west,  and  as  soon  as  he  has  got  our 
house  built,  we  are  going  to  live  there." 

"  It  is  not  far,  I  hope,"  said  I. 

"  A  trifle :  not  more  than  ten  miles,"  said  Miss  Thorn- 
ton ;  "  they  call  the  place  Toonarbin.  Mary's  run  joins 
the  Major's  on  two  sides,  and  beyond  again,  we  already 
have  neighbours,  the  Mayfords.  They  are  on  the  river 
again ;  but  we  are  on  a  small  creek  towards  the  ranges.  I 
should  like  to  have  been  on  the  river,  but  they  say  we  are 
very  lucky." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mary  ;  "  James  Stock- 
bridge  said  you  would  be  sure  to  come ;  otherwise,  we 
should  have  sent  over  for  you.  What  do  you  think  of  my 
boy  ?  " 

She  produced  him  from  an  inner  room.  He  was  cer- 
tainly a  beautiful  child,  though  very  small,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain painful  likeness  to  his  father,  which  even  I  could  see, 
and  I  could  not  help  comparing  him  unfavourably,  in  my 
own  mind,  with  that  noble  six-year-old  Sam  Buckley,  who 
had  come  to  my  knee  where  I  sat,  and  was  looking  in  my 
face  as  if  to  make  a  request. 

"  What  is  it,  my  prince  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  blushed,  and  turned  his  handsome  grey  eyes  to  a 
silver-handled  riding-whip  that  I  held  in  my  hand.  "  I'll 
take  such  care  of  it,"  he  whispered,  and,  having  got  it, 
was  soon  astride  of  a  stick,  full  gallop  for  Banbury  Cross. 

James  and  Troubridge  came  in.  To  the  former  I  had 
much  to  tell  that  was  highly  satisfactory  about  our  shear- 
ing ;  and  from  the  latter  I  had  much  to  hear  about  the 
state  of  both  the  new  stations,  and  the  adventures  of  a 
journey  he  had  had  back  towards  Sidney  to  fetch  up  his 
sheep.  But  these  particulars  will  be  but  little  interesting 
to  an  English  reader,  and  perhaps  still  less  so  to  an  Aus- 
tralian. I  am  writing  a  history  of  the  people  themselves, 
213 


The  Recollections  of 

not  of  their  property.  I  \vill  only  say,  once  for  all,  that 
the  Major's  run  contained  very  little  short  of  60,000  acres 
of  splendidly  grassed  plain-land,  which  he  took  up  origin- 
ally with  merely  a  few  cattle,  and  about  3,000  sheep  ;  but 
which,  in  a  few  years,  carried  28,000  sheep  comfortably. 
Mrs.  Hawker  and  Troubridge  had  quite  as  large  a  run ; 
but  a  great  deal  of  it  was  rather  worthless  forest,  badly 
grassed;  which  Tom,  in  his  wisdom,  like  a  great  many 
other  new  chums,  had  thought  superior  to  the  bleak  plains 
on  account  of  the  shelter.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this  dis- 
advantage, they  were  never,  after  a  year  or  two,  with  less 
than  15,000  sheep,  and  a  tolerable  head  of  cattle.  In 
short,  in  a  very  few  years,  both  the  Major  and  Troubridge, 
by  mere  power  of  accumulation,  became  very  wealthy 
people. 

Christmas  morn  rose  bright ;  but  ere  the  sun  had  time 
to  wreak  his  fury  upon  us,  every  soul  in  the  household 
was  abroad,  under  the  shade  of  the  lightwood  trees,  to 
hear  the  Major  read  the  Litany.  ••**" 

A  strange  group  we  were.  The  Major  stood  with  his 
back  against  a  tree-stem,  and  all  his  congregation  were 
ranged  around  him.  To  his  right  stood  Miss  Thornton, 
her  arms  folded  placidly  before  her ;  and  with  her,  Mary 
and  Mrs.  Buckley,  in  front  of  whom  sat  the  two  boys  : 
Sam,  the  elder,  trying  to  keep  Charles,  the  younger,  quiet. 
Next,  going  round  the  circle,  stood  the  old  housekeeper, 
servant  of  the  Buckleys  for  thirty  years ;  who  now  looked 
askance  off  her  Prayer-book  to  see  that  the  two  convict- 
women  under  her  charge  were  behaving  with  decorum. 
Next,  and  exactly  opposite  the  Major,  were  two  free  ser- 
vants :  one  a  broad,  brawny,  athletic-looking  man,  with,  I 
thought,  not  a  bad  countenance ;  and  the  other  a  tall, 
handsome,  foolish-looking  Devonshire  lad.  The  round 
was  completed  by  five  convict  man-servants,  standing 
vacantly  looking  about  them  ;  and  Tom,  James,  and  my- 
self, who  were  next  the  Major. 

The  service,  which  he  read  in  a  clear  manly  voice,  was 
214 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

soon  over,  and  we  returned  to  the  house  in  groups.  I 
threw  myself  in  the  way  of  the  two  free  sen-ants,  and 
asked, — 

"  Pray,  which  of  you  is  William  Lee  ?  " — for  I  had  for- 
gotten him. 

The  short  thickset  man  I  had  noticed  before  touched 
his  hat  and  said  that  he  was.  That  touching  of  the  hat  is 
a  very  rare  piece  of  courtesy  from  working  men  in  Aus- 
tralia. The  convicts  are  forced  to  do  it,  and  so  the  free 
men  make  it  a  point  of  honour  not  to  do  so. 

"Oh  ! "  said  I,  "  I  have  got  a  groom  who  calls  himself 
Dick.  I  found  him  sorefooted  in  the  bush  the  day  I  met 
the  Major.  He  was  trying  to  pick  you  up.  He  asked  me 
to  tell  you  that  he  was  afraid  to  cross  the  range  alone  on 
account  of  the  blacks,  or  he  would  have  come  up  with  you. 
He  seemed  anxious  lest  you  should  think  it  was  his  fault." 

"  Poor  chap  !  "  said  Lee.  "  What  a  faithful  little  fellow 
it  is  !  Would  it  be  asking  a  liberty  if  you  would  take 
back  a  letter  for  me,  sir  ?  " 

I  said,  "  No  ;  certainly  not." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad 
Dick  has  got  with  a  gentleman." 

That  letter  was  of  some  importance  to  me,  though  I  did 
not  know  it  till  after,  but  I  may  as  well  say  why  now. 
Lee  had  been  a  favourite  servant  of  my  father's,  and  when 
he  got  into  trouble  my  father  had  paid  a  counsel  to  defend 
him.  Lee  never  forgot  this,  and  this  letter  to  Dick  was 
shortly  to  the  effect  that  I  was  one  of  the  right  sort,  and 
was  to  be  taken  care  of,  which  injunction  Dick  obeyed  to 
the  very  letter,  doing  me  services  for  pure  good  will,  which 
could  not  have  been  bought  for  a  thousand  a-year. 

After  breakfast  arose  the  question,  "  What  is  to  be 
done  ?  "  Which  Troubridge  replied  to  by  saying :  "  What 
could  any  sensible  man  do  such  weather  as  this,  but  get 
into  the  water  and  stop  there  ?  " 

"  Shall  it  be,  '  All  hands  to  bathe,'  then  ?  "  said  the 
Major. 

215 


The  Recollections  of 

"  You  won't  be  without  company,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley, 
"  for  the  black  fellows  are  camped  in  the  bend,  and  they 
spend  most  of  their  time  in  the  water  such  a  day  as  this." 

So  James  and  Troubridge  started  for  the  river  with 
their  towels,  the  Major  and  I  promising  to  follow  them 
immediately,  for  I  wanted  to  look  at  my  horse,  and  the 
Major  had  also  something  to  do  in  the  paddock.  So  we 
walked  together. 

"  Major,"  said  I,  when  we  had  gone  a  little  way,  "  do 
you  never  feel  anxious  about  Mary  Hawker's  husband 
appearing  and  giving  trouble  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no ! "  said  he.  "  The  man  is  safe  in  Van  Die- 
man's  Land.  Besides,  what  could  he  gain?  I,  for  one, 
without  consulting  her,  should  find  means  to  pack  him 
off  again.  There  is  no  fear." 

"  By  the  bye,  Major,"  I  said,  "  have  you  heard  from  our 
friend  Dr.  Mulhaus  since  your  arrival  ?  I  suppose  he  is 
at  Drumston  still  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !  "  said  he.  "  He  is  gone  back  to  Ger- 
many. He  is  going  to  settle  there  again.  He  was  so 
sickened  of  England  when  all  his  friends  left,  that  he  de- 
termined to  go  home.  I  understood  that  he  had  some 
sort  of  patrimony  there,  on  which  he  will  end  his  days. 
Wherever  he  goes,  God  go  with  him,  for  he  is  a  noble 
fellow ! " 

"  Amen,"  I  answered.  And  soon  after,  having  got 
towels,  we  proceeded  to  the  river ;  making  for  a  long 
reach  a  little  below  where  I  had  crossed  the  night  before. 

"  Look  there  !  "  said  the  Major.  "  There's  a  bit  for  one 
of  your  painters  !  I  wish  Wilkie  or  Martin  were  here." 

I  agreed  with  him.  Had  Etty  been  on  the  spot  he 
would  have  got  a  hint  for  one  of  his  finest  pictures  ;  and 
though  I  can  give  but  little  idea  of  it  in  writing,  let  me 
try.  Before  us  was  a  long  reach  of  deep,  still  water,  un- 
broken by  a  ripple,  so  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by  walls  of 
deep  green  black  wattle,  tea-tree,  and  delicate  silver 
acacia,  that  the  water  seemed  to  flow  in  a  deep  shoreless 
216 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

rift  of  the  forest,  above  which  the  taller  forest  trees  tow- 
ered up  two  hundred  feet,  hiding  the  lofty  cliffs,  which 
had  here  receded  a  little  back  from  the  river. 

The  picture  had  a  centre,  and  a  strange  one.  A  little 
ledge  of  rock  ran  out  into  deep  water,  and  upon  it,  rising 
from  a  heap  of  light-coloured  clothing,  like  a  white  pillar, 
in  the  midst  of  the  sombre  green  foliage,  rose  the  naked 
carcass  of  Thomas  Troubridge,  Esq.,  preparing  for  a 
header,  while  at  his  feet  were  grouped  three  or  four  black 
fellows,  one  of  whom  as  we  watched  slid  off  the  rock  like 
an  otter.  The  reach  was  covered  with  black  heads  be- 
longing to  the  savages,  who  were  swimming  in  all  direc- 
tions, while  groups  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes  stood  about 
on  the  bank  in  Mother  Nature's  full  dress. 

We  had  a  glorious  bathe,  and  then  sat  on  the  rock, 
smoking,  talking,  and  watching  the  various  manoeuvres  of 
the  blacks.  An  old  lady,  apparently  about  eighty,  with  a 
head  as  white  as  snow,  topping  her  black  body  (a  flour- 
bag  cobbler,  as  her  tribe  would  call  her),  was  punting  a 
canoe  along  in  the  shallow  water  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river.  She  was  entirely  without  clothes,  and  in  spite 
of  her  decrepitude  stood  upright  in  the  cockleshell,  hand- 
ling it  with  great  dexterity.  When  she  was  a  little  above 
us,  she  made  way  on  her  barque,  and  shot  into  the  deep 
water  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  evidently  with  the  in- 
tention of  speaking  us.  As,  however,  she  was  just  half- 
way across,  floating  helplessly,  unable  to  reach  the  bottom 
with  the  spear  she  had  used  as  a  puntpole  in  the  shallower 
water,  a  mischievous  black  imp  canted  her  over,  and  souse 
she  went  into  the  river.  It  was  amazing  to  see  how  bold- 
ly and  well  the  old  woman  struck  out  for  the  shore,  keep- 
ing her  white  head  well  out  of  the  water ;  and  having 
reached  dry  land  once  more,  sat  down  on  her  haunches, 
and  began  scolding  with  a  volubility  and  power  which 
would  soon  have  silenced  the  loudest  tongue  in  old  Bil- 
lingsgate. 

Her  anger,  so  far  from  wearing  out,  grew  on  what  fed 
217 


The  Recollections  of 

it ;  so  that  her  long-drawn  yells,  which  seemed  like  paren- 
theses in  her  jabbering  discourse,  were  getting  each  min- 
ute more  and  more  acute,  and  we  were  just  thinking 
about  moving  homewards,  when  a  voice  behind  us  sang 
out, — 

"  Hallo,  Major !  Having  a  little  music,  eh  ?  What  a 
sweet  song  that  old  girl  is  singing  !  I  must  write  it  down 
from  dictation,  and  translate  it,  as  Walter  Scott  used  to 
do  with  the  old  wives'  ballads  in  Scotland." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it  would  be  quite  Ossianic — equal  to 
any  of  the  abusive  scenes  in  Homer.  But,  my  dear  Hard- 
ing, how  are  you  ?  You  are  come  to  eat  your  Christmas 
dinner  with  us,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  That  same  thing,  Major,"  answered  the  new  comer. 
"  Troubridge  and  Stockbridge,  how  are  you  ?  This,  I 
presume,  is  your  partner,  Hamlyn  ?  " 

We  went  back  to  the  house.  Harding,  I  found,  was 
half-owner  of  a  station  to  the  north-east,  an  Oxford  man, 
a  great  hand  at  skylarking,  and  an  inveterate  writer  of 
songs.  He  was  good-looking  too,  and  gentlemanlike,  in 
fact,  a  very  pleasant  companion  in  every  way. 

Dinner  was  to  be  at  six  o'clock,  in  imitation  of  home 
hours  ;  but  we  did  not  find  the  day  hang  heavy  on  our 
hands,  there  was  so  much  to  be  spoken  of  by  all  of  us. 
And  when  that  important  meal  was  over  we  gathered  in 
the  open  air  in  front  of  the  house,  bent  upon  making 
Christmas  cheer. 

"  What  is  your  last  new  song,  eh,  Harding  ?  "  said  the 
Major  ;  "  now  is  the  time  to  ventilate  it." 

"  I've  been  too  busy  shearing  for  song-writing,  Major." 

Soon  after  this  we  went  in,  and  there  we  sat  till  nearly 
ten  o'clock,  laughing,  joking,  singing,  and  drinking  punch. 
Mary  sat  between  James  Stockbridge  and  Tom,  and  they 
three  spoke  together  so  exclusively  and  so  low,  that  the 
rest  of  us  were  quite  forgotten.  Mary  was  smiling  and 
laughing,  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other,  in  her  old 
way,  and  now  and  then  as  I  glanced  at  her  I  could  hardly 
218 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

help  sighing.  But  I  soon  remembered  certain  resolutions 
I  had  made,  and  tried  not  to  notice  the  trio,  but  to  make 
myself  agreeable  to  the  others.  Still  my  eyes  wandered 
towards  them  again  intuitively.  I  thought  Mary  had 
never  looked  so  beautiful  before.  Her  complexion  was 
very  full,  as  though  she  were  blushing  at  something  one 
of  them  had  said  to  her,  and  while  I  watched  I  saw  James 
rise  and  go  to  a  jug  of  flowers,  and  bring  back  a  wreath 
of  scarlet  Kennedia,  saying  : — 

"  Do  us  a  favour  on  Christmas  night,  Mary ;  twine  this 
in  your  hair." 

She  blushed  deeper  than  before,  but  she  did  it,  and 
Tom  helped  her.  There  was  no  harm  in  that,  you  say, 
for  was  he  not  her  cousin  ?  But  still  I  could  not  help 
saying  to  myself,  "  Oh  Mary,  Mary,  if  you  were  a  widow, 
how  long  would  you  stay  so  ?  " 

"  What  a  gathering  it  is,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley ! — "  all  the  old  Drumstonians  who  are  alive  collected 
under  one  roof." 

"  Except  the  Doctor,"  said  the  Major. 

"  Ah,  yes,  dear  Doctor  Mulhaus.  I  am  so  sad  some- 
times to  think  that  we  shall  never  see  him  again." 

"  I  miss  him  more  than  any  one,"  said  the  Major.  "  I 
have  no  one  to  contradict  me  now." 

"  I  shall  have  to  take  that  duty  upon  me,  then,"  said  his 
wife. 

"  Hark !  there  is  Lee  come  back  from  the  sheep  sta- 
tion. Yes,  that  must  be  his  horse.  Call  him  in  and  give 
him  a  glass  of  grog.  I  was  sorry  to  send  him  out  to- 
day." 

"  He  is  coming  to  make  his  report,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley  ; 
"  there  is  his  heavy  tramp  outside  the  door." 

The  door  was  opened,  and  the  new  comer  advanced  to 
where  the  glare  of  the  candles  fell  upon  his  face. 

Had  the  Gentleman  in  Black  himself  advanced  out  of 
the  darkness  at  that  moment,  with  his  blue  bag  on  his 
arm  and  his  bundle  of  documents  in  his  hand,  we  should 
219 


The  Recollections  of 

not  have  leapt  to  our  feet  and  cried  out  more  suddenly 
than  we  did  then.  For  Doctor  Mulhaus  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  looking  around  him  with  a  bland  smile. 


Chapter  XXI 

Jim  Stockbridge  begins  to  take  another  View  of  Matters 

HE  stood  in  the  candle-light,  smiling  'blandly,  while  we 
all  stayed  for  an  instant,  after  our  first  exclamation,  speech- 
less with  astonishment. 

The  Major  was  the  first  who  showed  signs  of  con- 
sciousness, for  I  verily  believe  that  one  half  of  the  com- 
pany at  least  believed  him  to  be  a  ghost.  "  You  are  the 
man,"  said  the  Major,  "  who  in  the  flesh  called  himself 
Maximilian  Mulhaus  !  Why  are  you  come  to  trouble  us, 
O  spirit  ? — not  that  we  shouldn't  be  glad  to  see  you  if  you 
were  alive,  you  know,  but — my  dear  old  friend,  how  are 
you  ?  " 

Then  we  crowded  round  him,  all  speaking  at  once  and 
trying  to  shake  hands  with  him.  Still  he  remained  silent, 
and  smiled.  I,  looking  into  his  eyes,  saw  that  they  were 
swimming,  and  divined  why  he  would  not  trust  himself 
to  speak.  No  one  hated  a  show  of  emotion  more  than 
the  Doctor,  and  yet  his  brave  warm  heart  would  often 
flood  his  eyes  in  spite  of  himself. 

He  walked  round  to  the  fire-place,  and,  leaning  against 
the  board  that  answered  for  a  chimney-piece,  stood  look- 
ing at  us  with  beaming  eyes,  while  we  anxiously  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said  at  length,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  this  does 
me  good.  I  have  not  made  my  journey  in  vain.  A  man 
who  tries  to  live  in  this  world  without  love  must,  if  he  is 
not  a  fool,  commit  suicide  in  a  year.  I  went  to  my  own 
home,  and  my  own  dogs  barked  at  me.  Those  I  had 
raised  out  of  the  gutter,  and  set  on  horseback,  splashed 
220 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

mud  on  me  as  I  walked.  I  will  go  back,  I  said,  to  the 
little  English  family  who  loved  and  respected  me  for  my 
own  sake,  though  they  be  at  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
So  I  left  those  who  should  have  loved  me  with  an  ill-con- 
cealed smile  on  their  faces,  and  when  I  come  here  I  am 
welcomed  with  tears  of  joy  from  those  I  have  not  known 
five  years.  Bah  !  Here  is  my  home,  Buckley :  let  me 
live  and  die  with  you." 

"  Live  !  "  said  the  Major — "  ay,  while  there's  a  place  to 
live  in ;  don't  talk  about  dying  yet,  though, — we'll  think 
of  that  presently.  I  can't  find  words  enough  to  give  him 
welcome.  Wife,  can  you  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  indeed,"  she  said  ;  "  and  what  need  ?  He  can 
see  a  warmer  welcome  in  our  faces  than  an  hour's  clumsy 
talk  would  give  him.  I  say,  Doctor,  you  are  welcome, 
now  and  for  ever.  Will  that  serve  you,  husband  ?  " 

I  could  not  help  looking  at  Miss  Thornton.  She  sat 
silently  staring  at  him  through  it  all,  with  her  hands 
clasped  together,  beating  them  upon  her  knee.  Now, 
when  all  was  quiet,  and  Mrs.  Buckley  and  Mary  had  run 
off  to  the  kitchen  to  order  the  Doctor  some  supper,  he 
seemed  to  see  her  for  the  first  time,  and  bowed  profoundly. 
She  rose,  and,  looking  at  him  intently,  sat  down  again. 

The  Doctor  had  eaten  his  supper,  and  Mrs.  Buckley  had 
made  him  something  to  drink  with  her  own  hands ;  the 
Doctor  had  lit  his  pipe,  and  we  had  gathered  round  the 
empty  fire-place,  when  the  Major  said, — 

"  Now,  Doctor,  do  tell  us  your  adventures,  and  how 
you  have  managed  to  drop  upon  us  from  the  skies  on 
Christmas-day." 

"  Soon  told,  my  friend,"  he  answered.  "  See  here.  I 
went  back  to  Germany  because  all  ties  in  England  were 

broken.     I  went  to  Lord  C :  I  said,  '  I  will  go  back 

and  see  the  palingenesis  of  my  country ;  I  will  see  what 
they  are  doing,  now  the  French  are  in  the  dust.'  He  said, 
'  Go,  and  God  speed  you  ! '  I  went.  What  did  I  find  ? 
Beggars  on  horseback  everywhere,  riding  post-haste  to 


The  Recollections  of 

the  devil — not  as  good  horsemen,  either,  but  as  tailors  of 
Brentford,  and  crowding  one  another  into  the  mud  to  see 
who  would  be  there  first.  '  Let  me  get  out  of  this  before 
they  ride  over  me,'  said  I.  So  I  came  forth  to  England, 
took  ship,  and  here  I  am." 

"  A  most  lucid  and  entirely  satisfactory  explanation  of 
what  you  have  been  about,  I  must  say,"  answered  the 
Major  ;  "  however,  I  must  be  content." 

At  this  moment,  little  Sam,  who  had  made  his  escape  in 
the  confusion,  came  running  in,  breathless.  "  Papa ! 
Papa  !  "  said  he,  "  Lee  has  come  home  with  a  snake  seven 
feet  long."  Lee  was  at  the  door  with  the  reptile  in  his 
hand — a  black  snake,  with  a  deep  salmon-coloured  belly, 
deadly  venomous,  as  I  knew.  All  the  party  went  out  to 
look  at  it,  except  the  Doctor  and  Miss  Thornton,  who 
stayed  at  the  fire-place. 

"  Mind  your  hands,  Lee  !  "  I  heard  James  say  ;  "  though 
the  brute  is  dead,  you  might  prick  your  fingers  with  him." 

I  was  behind  all  the  others,  waiting  to  look  at  the  snake, 
which  was  somewhat  of  a  large  one,  and  worth  seeing,  so 
I  could  not  help  overhearing  the  conversation  of  Miss 
Thornton  and  the  Doctor,  and  having  heard  the  first  of  it 
my  ears  grew  so  unnaturally  quickened,  that  I  could  not 
for  the  life  of  me  avoid  hearing  the  whole,  though  I  was 
ashamed  of  playing  eavesdropper. 

"  My  God,  sir !  "  I  heard  her  say,  "  what  new  madness 
is  this  ?  .Why  do  you  persist  in  separating  yourself  from 
your  family  in  this  manner  ?  " 

"No  madness  at  all,  my  dear  madam,"  he  answered; 
"  you  would  have  done  the  same  under  the  circumstances. 
My  brother  was  civil,  but  I  saw  he  would  rather  have  me 
away  and  continue  his  stewardship.  And  so  I  let  him." 

Miss  Thornton  put  another  question  which  I  did  not 
catch,  and  the  sense  of  which  I  could  not  supply,  but  I 
heard  his  answer  plainly  :  it  was, — 

"  Of  course  I  did,  my  dear  lady,  and,  just  as  you  may 
suppose,  when  I  walked  up  the  Rittersaal,  there  was  a 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

buzz  and  a  giggle,  and  not  one  held  out  his  hand  save 
noble  Von  H ;  long  life  to  him  !  " 

"But ?"  said  Miss  Thornton,  mentioning  some- 
body, whose  name  I  could  not  catch. 

"  I  saw  him  bend  over  to  M as  I  came  up  to  the 

Presence,  and  they  both  laughed.  I  saw  a  slight  was  in- 
tended, made  my  devoirs,  and  backed  off.  The  next  day 
he  sent  for  me,  but  I  was  off  and  away.  I  heard  of  it  be- 
fore I  left  England." 

"  And  will  you  never  go  back  ?  "  she  said. 

"  When  I  can  with  honour,  not  before ;  and  that  will 
never  be  till  he  is  dead,  I  fear  ;  and  his  life  is  as  good  as 
mine.  So,  hey  for  natural  history,  and  quiet  domestic 
life,  and  happiness  with  my  English  friends  !  Now,  am  I 
wise  or  not  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not,"  she  said. 

The  Doctor  laughed,  and  taking  her  hand,  kissed  it 
gallantly ;  by  this  time  we  had  all  turned  round,  and  were 
coming  in. 

"  Now,  Doctor,"  said  the  Major,  "  if  you  have  done 
flirting  with  Miss  Thornton,  look  at  this  snake." 

"  A  noble  beast,  indeed,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Friend," 
he  added  to  Lee,  "  if  you  don't  want  him,  I  will  take  him 
off  your  hands  for  a  sum  of  money.  He  shall  be  pickled, 
as  I  live." 

"  He  is  very  venomous,  sir,"  said  Lee.  "  The  blacks 
eat  'em,  it's  true,  but  they  always  cut  the  head  off  first. 
I'd  take  the  head  off,  sir,  before  I  ventured  to  taste  him." 

We  all  laughed  at  Lee's  supposing  that  the  Doctor 
meant  to  make  a  meal  of  the  deadly  serpent,  and  Lee 
laughed  as  loudly  as  anybody. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I've  always  heard  that  you 
French  gents  ate  frogs,  so  I  didn't  know  as  snakes  would 
come  amiss." 

"  Pray  don't  take  me  for  a  Frenchman,  my  good  lad," 
said  the  Doctor  ;  "  and  as  for  frogs,  they  are  as  good  as 
chickens." 

223 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Well,  I've  eaten  guaners  myself,"  said  Lee,  "  though 
I  can't  say  much  for  them.  They're  uglier  than  snakes 
any  way." 

Lee  was  made  to  sit  down  and  take  a  glass  of  grog. 
So,  very  shortly,  the  conversation  flowed  on  into  its  old 
channel,  and,  after  spending  a  long  and  pleasant  evening, 
we  all  went  to  bed. 

James  and  I  slept  in  the  same  room  ;  and,  when  we 
were  going  to  bed,  I  said, — 

"  James,  if  that  fellow  were  to  die,  there  would  be  a 
chance  for  you  yet." 

"  With  regard  to  what  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  know  well  enough,  you  old  humbug,"  I  said ; 
"  with  regard  to  Mary  Hawker,— nte  Thornton  !  " 

"  I  doubt  it,  my  lad,"  he  said.  "  I  very  much  doubt  it 
indeed ;  and  perhaps,  you  have  heard  that  there  must  be 
two  parties  to  a  bargain,  so  that  even  if  she  were  willing 
to  take  me,  I  very  much  doubt  if  I  would  ask  her." 

"  No  one  could  blame  you  for  that,"  I  said,  "  after  what 
has  happened.  There  are  but  few  men  who  would  like  to 
marry  the  widow  of  a  coiner." 

"  You  mistake  me,  Jeff.  You  mistake  me  altogether," 
he  answered,  walking  up  and  down  the  room  with  one 
boot  off.  "  That  would  make  but  little  difference  to  me. 
I've  no  relations  to  sing  out  about  a  mesalliance,  you 
know.  No,  my  dear  old  fellow,  not  that ;  but — Jeff,  Jeff  ! 
you  are  the  dearest  friend  I  have  in  the  world." 

"  Jim,  my  boy,"  I  answered,  "  I  love  you  like  a  brother. 
What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  secrets  from  you,  Jeff,"  he  said  ;  "  so  I  don't 
mind  telling  you."  Another  hesitation !  I  grew  rather 
anxious.  "  What  the  deuce  is  coming  ?  "  I  thought. 
"  What  can  she  have  been  up  to  ?  Go  on,  old  fellow,"  I 
added  aloud  ;  "  let's  hear  all  about  it." 

He  stood  at  the  end  of  the  room,  looking  rather  sheep- 
ish. "  Why,  the  fact  is,  old  fellow,  that  I  begin  to  suspect 
that  I  have  outlived  any  little  attachment  I  had  in  that 
224 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

quarter.  I've  been  staying  in  the  house  two  months  with 
her,  you  see  :  and,  in  fact !— in  fact !  "—here  he  brought 
up  short  again. 

"  James  Stockbridge,"  I  said,  sitting  up  in  bed,  "  you 
atrocious  humbug ;  two  months  ago  you  informed  me, 
with  a  sigh  like  a  groggy  pair  of  bellows,  that  her  image 
could  only  be  effaced  from  your  heart  by  death.  You 
have  seduced  me,  whose  only  fault  was  loving  you  too  well 
to  part  with  you,  into  coming  sixteen  thousand  miles  to  a 
barbarous  land,  far  from  kindred  and  country,  on  the  plea 
that  your  blighted  affections  made  England  less  endur- 
able than — France,  I'll  say  for  argument;  —  and  now, 
having  had  two  months'  opportunity  of  studying  the 
character  of  the  beloved  one,  you  coolly  inform  me  that 
the  whole  thing  was  a  mistake.  I  repeat  that  you  are  a 
humbug." 

"If  you  don't  hold  your  tongue,  and  that  quick,"  he 
replied,  "  I'll  send  this  boot  at  your  ugly  head.  Now, 
then!" 

I  ducked,  fully  expecting  it  was  coming,  and  laughed 
silently  under  the  bed-clothes.  I  was  very  happy  to  hear 
this — I  was  very  happy  to  hear  that  a  man,  whom  I  really 
liked  so  well,  had  got  the  better  of  a  passion  for  a  woman 
who  I  knew  was  .utterly  incapable  of  being  to  him  what 
his  romantic  high-flown  notions  required  a  wife  to  be.  "  If 
this  happy  result,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  can  be  rendered 
the  more  sure  by  ridicule,  that  shall  not  be  wanting. 
Meanwhile,  I  will  sue  for  peace,  and  see  how  it  came 
about." 

I  rose  again  and  saw  he  had  got  his  other  boot  half  off, 
and  was  watching  for  me.  "Jim,"  said  I,  "you  ain't 
angry  because  I  laughed  at  you,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Angry !  "  he  answered.  "  1  am  never  angry  with  you, 
and  you  know  it.  I've  been  a  fool,  and  I  ought  to  be 
laughed  at." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  I,  "  no  more  a  fool  than  other  men  have 
been  before  you,  from  father  Adam  downwards." 
225 


The  Recollections  of 

"  And  he  was  a  most  con — " 

"  There,"  I  interrupted :  "  don't  abuse  your  ancestors. 
Tell  me  why  you  have  changed  your  mind  so  quick  ?  " 

"  That's  a  precious  hard  thing  to  do,  mind  you ; "  he  an- 
swered. "  A  thousand  trifling  circumstances,  which  taken 
apart  are  as  worthless  straws,  when  they  are  bound  up  to- 
gether become  a  respectable  truss,  which  is  marketable, 
and  ponderable.  So  it  is  with  little  traits  in  Mary's  char- 
acter, which  I  have  only  noticed  lately,  nothing  separately ; 
yet,  when  taken  together,  are,  to  say  the  least,  different  to 
what  I  had  imagined  while  my  eyes  were  blinded.  To 
take  one  instance  among  fifty ;  there's  her  cousin  Tom, 
one  of  the  finest  fellows  that  ever  stepped  ;  but  still  I  don't 
like  to  see  her,  a  married  woman,  allowing  him  to  pull  her 
hair  about,  and  twist  flowers  in  it." 

This  was  very  true,  but  I  thought  that  if  James  instead 
of  Tom  had  been  allowed  the  privilege  of  decorating  her 
hair,  he  might  have  looked  on  it  with  different  eyes. 
James,  I  saw,  cared  too  little  about  her  to  be  very  jealous, 
and  so  I  saw  that  there  was  no  fear  of  any  coolness  be- 
tween him  and  Troubridge,  which  was  a  thing  to  be  re- 
joiced at,  as  a  quarrel  would  have  been  a  terrible  blow  on 
our  little  society. 

"Jim,"  said  I,  "  I  have  got  something  to  tell  you.  Do 
you  know,  I  believe  there  is  some  mystery  about  Doctor 
Mulhaus." 

"  He  is  a  walking  mystery,"  said  Jim  :  "  but  he  is  a  noble 
good  fellow,  though  unhappily  a  frog-eater." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  believe  Miss  Thornton  knows  it." 

"  Very  like,""  said  Jim,  yawning. 

I  told  him  all  the  conversation  I  overheard  that  even- 
ing. 

"  Are  you  sure  she  said  '  the  king'  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite  sure,"  I  said  ;  "  now,  what  do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  make  this  of  it,"  he  said  :  "  that  it  is  no  earthly  busi- 
ness of  ours,  or  we  should  have  been  informed  of  it ;  and 
if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  breathe  a  word  of  it  to  any  mor- 
226 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

tal  soul,  or  let  the  Doctor  suspect  that  you  overheard  any- 
thing. Secrets  where  kings  are  concerned  are  precious 
sacred  things,  old  Jeff.  Good  night !  " 


Chapter  XXII 
Sam  Buckley's  Education 

THIS  narrative  which  I  am  now  writing  is  neither  more 
nor  less  than  an  account  of  what  befel  certain  of  my  ac- 
quaintances during  a  period  extending  over  nearly,  or  quite, 
twenty  years,  interspersed,  and  let  us  hope  embellished, 
with  descriptions  of  the  country  in  which  these  circum- 
stances took  place,  and  illustrated  by  conversations  well 
known  to  me  by  frequent  repetition,  selected  as  throwing 
light  upon  the  characters  of  the  persons  concerned.  Epi- 
sodes there  are,  too,  which  I  have  thought  it  worth  while  to 
introduce,  as  being  more  or  less  interesting,  as  bearing  on 
the  manners  of  a  country  but  little  known,  out  of  which 
materials  it  is  difficult  to  select  those  most  proper  to  make 
my  tale  coherent  ;  yet  it  has  been  my  object,  neither  to 
dwell  on  the  one  hand  unnecessarily  on  the  more  unim- 
portant passages,  nor  on  the  other  hand  to  omit  anything 
which  may  be  supposed  to  bear  on  the  general  course  of 
events. 

Now,  during  all  the  time  above  mentioned,  I,  Geoffry 
Hamlyn,  have  happened  to  lead  a  most  uninteresting,  and 
with  few  exceptions  prosperous  existence.  I  was  but  little 
concerned,  save  as  a  hearer,  in  the  catalogue  of  exciting 
accidents  and  offences  which  I  chronicle.  I  have  looked 
on  with  the  deepest  interest  at  the  love-making,  and  ended 
a  bachelor ;  I  have  witnessed  the  fighting  afar  off,  only 
joining  the  battle  when  I  could  not  rjelp  it,  yet  I  am  a 
steady  old  fogey,  with  a  mortal  horror  of  a  disturbance  of 
any  sort.  I  have  sat  drinking  with  the  wine-bibbers,  and 
yet  at  sixty  my  hand  is  as  steady  as  a  rock.  Money  has 
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The  Recollections  of 

come  to  me  by  mere  accumulation  ;  I  have  taken  more  pains 
to  spend  it  than  to  make  it ;  in  short,  all  through  my  life's 
dream,  I  have  been  a  spectator  and  not  an  actor,  and  so  in 
this  story  I  shall  keep  myself  as  much  as  possible  in  the  back- 
ground, only  appearing  personally  when  I  cannot  help  it. 

Acting  on  this  resolve  I  must  now  make  my  conge,  and 
bid  you  farewell  for  a  few  years,  and  go  back  to  those  few 
sheep  which  James  Stockbridge  and  I  own  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  continue  the  history  of  those  who  are  more  im- 
portant than  myself.  I  must  push  on  too,  for  there  is  a 
long  period  of  dull  stupid  prosperity  coming  to  our  friends 
at  Baroona  and  Toonarbin,  which  we  must  get  over  as 
quickly  as  is  decent.  Little  Sam  Buckley  also,  though  at 
present  a  most  delightful  child,  will  soon  be  a  mere  unin- 
teresting boy.  We  must  teach  him  to  read  and  write,  and 
ride,  and  what  not,  as  soon  as  possible,  and  see  if  we  can't 
find  a  young  lady — well,  I  won't  anticipate,  but  go  on.  Go 
on,  did  I  say  ? — jump  on,  rather — two  whole  years  at  once. 

See  Baroona  now.  Would  you  know  it  ?  I  think  not. 
That  hut  where  we  spent  the  pleasant  Christmas-day  you 
know  of  is  degraded  into  the  kitchen,  and  seems  moved 
backward,  although  it  stands  in  the  same  place,  for  a  new 
house  is  built  nearer  the  river,  quite  overwhelming  the  old 
slab  hut  in  its  grandeur — a  long  low  wooden  house,  with 
deep  cool  verandahs  all  round,  already  festooned  with  pas- 
sion flowers,  and  young  grape-vines,  and  fronted  by  a 
flower  garden,  all  a-blaze  with  petunias  and  geraniums. 

It  was  a  summer  evening,  and  all  the  French  windows 
reaching  to  the  ground  were  open  to  admit  the  cool  south 
wind,  which  had  just  come  up,  deliciously  icily  cold  after 
a  scorching  day.  In  the  verandah  sat  the  Major  and  the 
Doctor  over  their  claret  (for  the  Major  had  taken  to  dining 
late  again  now,  to  his  great  comfort),  and  in  the  garden 
were  Mrs.  Buckley  and  Sam  watering  the  flowers,  attended 
by  a  man  who  drew  water  from  a  new-made  reservoir  near 
the  house. 

"  I  think,  Doctor,"  said  the  Major,  "  that  the  habit  of 
228 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

dining  in  the  middle  of  the  day  is  a  gross  abuse  of  the 
gifts  of  Providence,  and  I'll  prove  it  to  you.  What  does  a 
man  dine  for  ? — answer  me  that." 

"  To  satisfy  his  hunger,  /  should  say,"  answered  the 
Doctor. 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  stuff  and  nonsense,  my  good  friend," 
said  the  Major  ;  "  you  are  speaking  at  random.  I  suppose 
you  will  say,  then,  that  a  black  fellow  is  capable  of  dining  ?  " 

"  Highly  capable,  as  far  as  I  can  judge  from  what  I 
have  seen,"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  A  full-grown  fighting 
black  would  be  ashamed  if  he  couldn't  eat  a  leg  of  mutton 
at  a  sitting." 

"  And  you  call  that  dining  f  "  said  the  Major.  "  I  call 
it  gorging.  Why,  those  fellows  are  more  uncomfortable 
after  food  than  before.  I  have  seen  them  sitting  close  be- 
fore the  fire  and  rubbing  their  stomachs  with  mutton  fat 
to  reduce  the  swelling.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha! — dining,  eh?  Oh, 
Lord ! " 

"  Then  if  you  don't  dine  to  satisfy  your  hunger,  what 
the  deuce  do  you  eat  dinners  for  at  all  ?  "  asked  the 
Doctor. 

"  Why,"  said  the  Major,  spreading  his  legs  out  before 
him  with  a  benign  smile,  and  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "  I 
eat  my  dinner,  not  so  much  for  the  sake  of  the  dinner  it- 
self, as  for  the  after-dinnerish  feeling  which  follows :  a 
feeling  that  you  have  nothing  to  do,  and  that  if  you  had 
you'd  be  shot  if  you'd  do  it.  That,  to  return  to  where  I 
started  from,  is  why  I  won't  dine  in  the  middle  of  the  day." 

"  If  that  is  the  way  you  feel  after  dinner,  I  certainly 
wouldn't." 

"  All  the  most  amiable  feelings  in  the  human  breast," 
continued  the  Major,  "  are  brought  out  in  their  full  perfec- 
tion by  dinner.  If  a  fellow  were  to  come  to  me  now  and 
ask  me  to  lend  him  ten  pounds,  I'd  do  it,  provided,  you 
know,  that  he  would  fetch  out  the  cheque-book  and  pen 
and  ink." 

"  Laziness  is  nothing,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  unless  well 
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The  Recollections  of 

carried  out.  I  only  contradicted  you,  however,  to  draw  you 
out ;  I  agree  entirely.  Do  you  know,  my  friend,  I  am  get- 
ting marvellously  fond  of  this  climate." 

"  So  am  I.  But  then  you  know,  Doctor,  that  we  are 
sheltered  from  the  north  wind  here  by  the  snow-ranges. 
The  summer  in  Sidney,  now,  is  perfectly  infernal.  The 
dust  is  so  thick  you  can't  see  your  hand  before  you." 

"  So  I  believe,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  By  the  bye,  I  got  a 
new  butterfly  to-day :  rather  an  event,  mind  you,  here, 
where  there  are  so  few." 

"  What  is  he  ?  " 

"  An  Hipparchia,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  Sam  saw  him  first 
and  gave  chase." 

"  You  seem  to  be  making  quite  a  naturalist  of  my  boy, 
Doctor.  I  am  sincerely  obliged  to  you.  If  we  can  make 
him  take  to  that  sort  of  thing  it  may  keep  him  out  of  much 
mischief." 

"  He  will  never  get  into  much,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  un- 
less I  am  mistaken  ;  he  is  the  most  docile  child  I  ever 
came  across.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  be  with  him.  What  are 
you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  He  must  go  to  school,  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  Major 
with  a  sigh ;  "  I  can't  bring  my  heart  to  part  with  him  ; 
but  his  mother  has  taught  him  all  she  knows,  so  I  suppose 
he  must  go  to  school  and  fight,  and  get  flogged,  and  come 
home  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  an  oath  on  his  lips, 
with  his  education  completed.  I  don't  fancy  his  staying 
here  among  these  convict  servants,  when  he  is  old  enough 
to  learn  mischief." 

"  He'll  learn  as  much  mischief  at  a  colonial  school,  I  ex- 
pect," said  the  Doctor,  "  and  more  too.  All  the  evil  he 
hears  from  these  fellows  will  be  like  the  water  on  a  duck's 
back;  whereas,  if  you  send  him  to  school  in  a  town,  he'll 
learn  a  dozen  vices  he'll  never  hear  of  here.  Get  him  a 
tutor." 

"  That  is  easier  said  than  done,  Doctor.     It  is  very  hard 
to  get  a  respectable  tutor  in  the  colony." 
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Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

"  Here  is  one  at  your  hand,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Take 
me." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  the  Major,  jumping  up,  "  I 
would  not  have  dared  to  ask  such  a  thing.  If  you  would 
undertake  him  for  a  short  time  ?  " 

"  I  will  undertake  the  boy's  education  altogether.  Potz- 
tausend,  and  why  not !  It  will  be  a  labour  of  love,  and 
therefore  the  more  thoroughly  done.  What  shall  he  learn, 
now  ?  " 

"  That  I  must  leave  to  you." 

"  A  weighty  responsibility,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  No 
Latin  or  Greek,  I  suppose  ?  They  will  be  no  use  to  him 
here." 

"  Well — no  ;  I  suppose  not.  But  I  should  like  him  to 
learn  his  Latin  grammar.  You  may  depend  upon  it 
there's  something  in  the  Latin  grammar." 

"  What  use  has  it  been  to  you,  Major  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  least  advantage  it  has  been  to  me  is  to  give 
me  an  insight  into  the  construction  of  languages,  which  is 
some  use".  But  while  I  was  learning  the  Latin  grammar, 
I  learnt  other  things  besides,  of  more  use  than  the  con- 
struction of  any  languages,  living  or  dead.  First,  I  learnt 
that  there  were  certain  things  in  this  world  that  must  be 
done.  Next,  that  there  were  people  in  this  world,  of  whom 
the  Masters  of  Eton  were  a  sample,  whose  orders  must  be 
obeyed  without  question.  Third,  I  found  that  it  was 
pleasanter  in  all  ways  to  do  one's  duty  than  to  leave  it  un- 
done. And  last,  I  found  out  how  to  bear  a  moderate 
amount  of  birching  without  any  indecent  outcry." 

"  All  very  useful  things,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Teach 
a  boy  one  thing  well,  and  you  show  him  how  to  learn 
others.  History,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  As  much  as  you  like,  Doctor.  His  mother  has  taught 
him  his  catechism,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  she  is  the 
fit  person,  you  know.  With  the  exception  of  that  and  the 
Latin  grammar,  I  trust  everything  to  your  discretion." 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  leave  to  you,  Major,  if  you  please, 
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and  that  is  corporal  chastisement.  I  am  not  at  all  sure 
that  I  could  bring  myself  to  flog  Sam,  and,  if  I  did,  it 
would  be  very  inefficiently  done." 

"  Oh,  I'll  undertake  it,"  said  the  Major,  "  though  I  be- 
lieve I  shall  have  an  easy  task.  He  won't  want  much 
flogging." 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Buckley  approached  with  a  bas- 
ketful of  fresh-gathered  flowers.  "  The  roses  don't  flower 
well  here,  Doctor,"  she  said,  "  but  the  geraniums  run 
mad.  Here  is  a  salmon-coloured  one  for  your  button- 
hole." 

"  He  has  earned  it  well,  Agnes,"  said  her  husband. 
"  He  has  decided  the  discussion  we  had  last  night  by 
offering  to  undertake  Sam's  education  himself." 

"  And  God's  blessing  on  him  for  it !  "  said  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley, warmly.  "  You  have  taken  a  great  load  off  my  mind, 
Doctor.  I  should  never  have  been  happy  if  that  boy  had 
gone  to  school.  Come  here,  Sam." 

Sam  came  bounding  into  the  verandah,  and  clambered 
up  on  his  father,  as  if  he  had  been  a  tree.  He  "was  now 
eleven  years  old,  and  very  tall  and  well-formed  for  his  age. 
He  was  a  good-looking  boy,  with  regular  features,  and 
curly  chestnut  hair.  He  had,  too,  the  large  grey-blue  eye 
of  his  father,  an  eye  that  never  lost  for  a  moment  its  star- 
ing expression  of  kindly  honesty,  and  the  lad's  whole 
countenance  was  one  which,  without  being  particularly 
handsome,  or  even  very  intelligent,  won  an  honest  man's 
regard  at  first  sight. 

"  My  dear  Sam,"  said  his  mother,  "  leave  off  playing 
with  your  father's  hair,  and  listen  to  me,  for  I  have  some- 
thing serious  to  say  to  you.  Last  night  your  father  and  I 
were  debating  about  sending  you  to  school,  but  Doctor 
Mulhaus  has  himself  offered  to  be  your  tutor,  thereby  giv- 
ing you  advantages,  for  love,  which  you  never  could  have 
secured  for  money.  Now,  the  least  we  can  expect  of  you, 
my  dear  boy,  is  that  you  will  be  docile  and  attentive  to 
him." 

232 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

"  I  will  try,  Doctor  dear,"  said  Sam.  "  But  I  am  very 
stupid  sometimes,  you  know." 

So  the  good  Doctor,  whose  head  was  stored  with  nearly 
as  much  of  human  knowledge  as  mortal  head  could  hold, 
took  simple,  guileless  little  Sam  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
into  the  garden  of  knowledge.  Unless  I  am  mistaken, 
these  two  will  pick  more  flowers  than  they  will  dig  pota- 
toes in  the  aforesaid  garden,  but  I  don't  think  that  two 
such  honest  souls  will  gather  much  unwholesome  fruit. 
The  danger  is  that  they  will  waste  their  time,  which  is  no 
danger  at  all,  but  a  certainty. 

I  believe  that  such  an  education  as  our  Sam  got  from 
the  Doctor  would  have  made  a  slattern  and  a  faineant 
out  of  half  the  boys  in  England.  If  Sam  had  been  a 
clever  boy,  or  a  conceited  boy,  he  would  have  ended  with 
a  superficial  knowledge  of  things  in  general,  imagining  he 
knew  everything  when  he  knew  nothing,  and  would  have 
been  left  in  the  end,  without  a  faith  either  religious  or  po- 
litical, a  useless,  careless  man. 

This  danger  the  Doctor  foresaw  in  the  first  month,  and 
going  to  the  Major  abruptly,  as  he  walked  up  and  down 
the  garden,  took  his  arm,  and  said, — 

"  See  here,  Buckley.  I  have  undertaken  to  educate  that 
boy  of  yours,  and  every  day  I  like  the  task  better,  and  yet 
every  day  I  see  that  I  have  undertaken  something  beyond 
me.  His  appetite  for  knowledge  is  insatiable,  but  he  is 
not  an  intellectual  boy ;  he  makes  no  deductions  of  his 
own,  but  takes  mine  for  granted.  He  has  no  commen- 
tary on  what  he  learns,  but  that  of  a  dissatisfied  idealist 
like  me,  a  man  who  has  been  thrown  among  circum- 
stances sufficiently  favourable  to  make  a  prime  minister 
out  of  some  men,  and  yet  who  has  ended  by  doing  noth- 
ing. Another  thing :  this  is  my  first  attempt  at  educa- 
tion, and  I  have  not  the  schoolmaster's  art  to  keep  him  to 
details.  Every  day  I  make  new  resolutions,  and  every 
day  I  break  them.  The  boy  turns  his  great  eyes  upon  me 
in  the  middle  of  some  humdrum  work,  and  asks  me  a 

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The  Recollections  of 

question.  In  answering,  I  get  off  the  turnpike  road,  and 
away  we  go  from  lane  to  lane,  from  one  subject  to  an- 
other, until  lesson-time  is  over,  and  nothing  done.  And, 
if  it  were  merely  time  wasted,  it  could  be  made  up,  but 
he  remembers  every  word  I  say,  and  believes  in  it  like 
gospel,  when  I  myself  couldn't  remember  half  of  it  to 
save  my  life.  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  I  consider  your  boy 
to  be  a  very  sacred  trust  to  me,  and  so  I  have  mentioned 
all  this  to  you,  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  removing 
him  to  where  he  might  be  under  a  stricter  discipline,  if 
you  thought  fit.  If  he  was  like  some  boys,  now,  I  should 
resign  my  post  at  once  ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  shall  wait  till  you 
turn  me  out,  for  two  reasons.  The  first  is,  that  I  take 
such  delight  in  my  task,  that  I  do  not  care  to  relinquish 
it ;  and  the  other  is,  that  the  lad  is  naturally  so  orderly 
and  gentle,  that  he  does  not  need  discipline,  like  most 
boys." 

"  My  dear  Doctor,"  replied  Major  Buckley,  "  listen  to 
me.  If  we  were  in  England,  and  Sam  could  go  to  Eton, 
which,  I  take  it  you  know,  is  the  best  school  in  the  world, 
I  would  still  earnestly  ask  you  to  continue  your  work. 
He  will  probably  inherit  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  will 
not  have  to  push  his  way  in  the  world  by  his  brains  ;  so 
that  close  scholarship  will  be  rather  unnecessary.  I 
should  like  him  to  know  history  well  and  thoroughly  ;  for 
he  may  mix  in  the  political  life  of  this  little  colony  by  and 
by.  Latin  grammar,  you  know,"  he  said,  laughing,  "  is 
indispensable.  Doctor,  I  trust  my  boy  with  you  because 
I  know  that  you  will  make  him  a  gentleman,  as  his 
mother,  with  God's  blessing,  will  make  him  a  Christian." 

So,  the  Doctor  buckled  to  his  task  again,  with  renewed 
energy ;  to  Euclid,  Latin  grammar,  and  fractions.  Sam's 
good  memory  enabled  him  to  make  light  of  the  grammar, 
and  the  fractions  too  were  no  great  difficulty,  but  the 
Euclid  was  an  awful  trial.  He  couldn't  make  out  what 
it  was  all  about.  He  got  on  very  well  until  he  came  near- 
ly to  the  end  of  the  first  book,  and  then  getting  among 
234 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

the  parallelogram  "  props,"  as  we  used  to  call  them,  (may 
their  fathers'  graves  be  defiled !)  he  stuck  dead.  For  a 
whole  evening  did  he  pore  patiently  over  one  of  them  till 
A  B,  setting  to  C  D,  crossed  hands,  poussetted,  and 
whirled  round  "  in  Sahara  waltz  "  through  his  throbbing 
head.  Bed-time,  but  no  rest !  Whether  he  slept  or  not 
he  could  not  tell.  Who  could  sleep  with  that  long- 
bodied,  ill-tempered-looking  parallelogram  A  H  standing 
on  the  bed-clothes,  and  crying  out  in  tones  loud  enough 
to  waken  the  house,  that  it  never  had  been,  nor  ever 
would  be  equal  to  the  fat  jolly  square  C  K  ?  So,  in  the 
morning,  Sam  woke  to  the  consciousness  that  he  was  far- 
ther off  from  the  solution  than  ever,  but,  having  had  a 
good  cry,  went  into  the  study  and  tackled  to  it  again. 

No  good  !  Breakfast  time,  and  matters  much  worse  ! 
That  long  peaked -nose  vixen  of  a  triangle  A  H  C,  which 
yesterday  Sam  had  made  out  was  equal  to  half  the  par- 
allelogram and  half  the  square,  now  had  the  audacity  to 
declare  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  either  of  them  ; 
so  what  was  to  be  done  now  ? 

After  breakfast  Sam  took  his  book  and  went  out  to  his 
father,  who  was  sitting  smoking  in  the  verandah.  He 
clambered  up  on  to  his  knee,  and  then  began  : — 

"  Father,  dear,  see  here ;  can  you  understand  this  ? 
You've  got  to  prove,  you  know, — oh,  dear !  I've  forgot 
that  now." 

"  Let's  see,"  said  the  Major  ;  "  I'm  afraid  this  is  a  little 
above  me.  There's  Brentwood,  now,  could  do  it ;  he 
was  in  the  Artillery,  you  know,  and  learnt  fortification, 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  I  don't  think  I  can  make  much 
hand  of  it,  Sam." 

But  Sam  had  put  his  head  upon  his  father's  shoulder, 
and  was  crying  bitterly. 

"  Come,  come,  my  old  man,"  said  the  Major,  "  don't 
give  way,  you  know  ;  don't  be  beat." 

"  I  can't  make  it  out  at  all,"  said  Sam  sobbing.  "  I've 
got  such  a  buzzing  in  my  head  with  it !  and  if  I  can't  do 

235 


The  Recollections  of 

it  I  must  stop ;  because  I  can't  go  on  to  the  next  till  I 
understand  this.  Oh,  dear  me !  " 

"  Lay  your  head  there  a  little,  my  boy,  till  it  gets 
clearer :  then  perhaps  you  will  be  able  to  make  it  out. 
You  may  depend  on  it  that  you  ought  to  learn  it,  or  the 
good  Doctor  wouldn't  have  set  it  to  you  ;  never  let  a  thing 
beat  you,  my  son." 

So  Sam  cried  on  his  father's  shoulder  a  little,  and  then 
went  in  with  his  book ;  and  not  long  after,  the  Doctor 
looked  in  unperceived,  and  saw  the  boy  with  his  elbows 
on  the  table  and  the  book  before  him.  Even  while  he 
looked  a  big  tear  fell  plump  into  the  middle  of  A  H  ;  so 
the  Doctor  came  quietly  in  and  said, — 

"  Can't  you  manage  it,  Sam  ?  " 

Sam  shook  his  head. 

"  Just  give  me  hold  of  the  book  ;  will  you,  Sam  ?  " 

Sam  complied  without  word  or  comment ;  the  Doctor 
sent  it  flying  through  the  open  window,  half-way  down  the 
garden.  "There!"  said  he,  nodding  his  head,  "that's 
the  fit  place  for  him  this  day  :  you've  had  enough  of  him 
at  present ;  go  and  tell  one  of  the  blacks  to  dig  some 
worms,  and  we'll  make  holiday  and  go  a  fishing." 

Sam  looked  at  the  Doctor,  and  then  through  the  win- 
dow at  his  old  enemy  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  flower- 
bed. He  did  not  like  to  see  the  poor  book,  so  lately  his 
master,  crumpled  and  helpless,  fallen  from  its  high  estate 
so  suddenly.  He  would  have  gone  to  its  assistance,  and 
picked  it  up  and  smoothed  it,  the  more  so  as  he  felt  that 
he  had  been  beaten. 

The  Doctor  seemed  to  see  everything.  "  Let  it  lie  here, 
my  child,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  assist  a 
fallen  enemy  ;  you  are  still  the  vanquished  party.  Go  and 
get  the  worms." 

He  went,  and  when  he  came  back  he  found  the  Doctor 

sitting  beside  his  father  in  the  verandah,  with  a  penknife 

in  one  hand  and  the  ace  of  spades  in  the  other.     He  cut 

the  card  into  squares,  triangles,  and  parallelograms,  while 

236 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Sam  looked  on,  and  demonstrating  as  he  went,  fitted  them 
one  into  the  other,  till  the  boy  saw  his  bugbear  of  a  prop- 
osition made  as  clear  as  day  before  his  eyes. 

"  Why,"  said  Sam,  "  that's  as  clear  as  need  be.  I  un- 
derstand it.  Now  may  I  pick  the  book  up,  Doctor  ?  " 

History  was  the  pleasantest  part  of  all  Sam's  tasks,  for 
they  would  sit  in  the  little  room  given  up  for  a  study  with 
the  French  windows  open  looking  on  the  flower-garden, 
Sam  reading  aloud  and  the  Doctor  making  discursive 
commentaries.  At  last,  one  day  the  Doctor  said, — 

"  My  boy,  we  are  making  too  much  of  a  pleasure  of 
this  :  you  must  really  learn  your  dates.  Now  tell  me  the 
date  of  the  accession  of  Edward  the  sixth." 

No  returns. 

"  Ah !  I  thought  so :  we  must  not  be  so  discursive. 
We'll  learn  the  dates  of  the  Grecian  History,  as  being  an 
effort  of  memory,  you  not  having  read  it  yet." 

But  this  plan  was  rather  worse  than  the  other ;  for 
one  morning,  Sam  having  innocently  asked,  at  half-past 
eleven,  what  the  battle  of  Thermopylae  was,  Mrs.  Buckley 
coming  in,  at  one,  to  call  them  to  lunch,  found  the  Doctor, 
who  had  begun  the  account  of  that  glorious  fight  in  Eng- 
lish, and  then  gone  on  to  German,  walking  up  and  down 
the  room  in  a  state  of  excitement,  reciting  to  Sam,  who 
did  not  know  8  from  $•,  the  soul-moving  account  of  it 
from  Herodotus  in  good  sonorous  Greek.  She  asked, 
laughing,  "  What  languages  are  you  talking  now,  my  dear 
Doctor  ?  " 

"  Greek,  madam,  Greek  !  and  the  very  best  of  Greek  ! " 

"  And  what  does  Sam  think  of  it  ?  I  should  like  you 
to  learn  Greek,  my  boy,  if  you  can." 

"  I  thought  he  was  singing,  mother,"  said  Sam ;  but 
after  that  the  lad  used  to  sit  delighted,  by  the  river  side, 
when  they  were  fishing,  while  the  Doctor,  with  his  mus- 
ical voice,  repeated  some  melodious  ode  of  Pindar's. 

And  so  the  intellectual  education  proceeded,  with  more 
or  less  energy :  and  meanwhile  the  physical  and  moral 

237 


The  Recollections  of 

part  was  not  forgotten,  though  the  two  latter,  like  the 
former,  were  not  very  closely  attended  to,  and  left  a  good 
deal  to  Providence.  (And,  having  done  your  best  for  a 
boy,  in  what  better  hands  can  you  leave  him  ?  )  But  the 
Major,  as  an  old  soldier,  had  gained  a  certain  faith  in  the 
usefulness  of  physical  training  ;  so,  when  Sam  was  about 
twelve,  you  might  have  seen  him  any  afternoon  on  the 
lawn,  with  his  father,  the  Major,  patiently  teaching  him 
singlestick,  and  Sam  as  patiently  learning,  until  the  boy 
came  to  be  so  marvellously  active  on  his  legs,  and  to  show 
such  rapidity  of  eye  and  hand,  that  the  Major,  on  one 
occasion,  having  received  a  more  than  usually  agonizing 
cut  on  the  forearm,  remarked  that  he  thought  he  was  not 
quite  so  active  on  his  pins  as  formerly,  and  that  he  must 
hand  the  boy  over  to  the  Doctor. 

"  Doctor,"  said  he  that  day,  "  I  have  taught  my  boy 
ordinary  sword  play  till,  by  Jove,  sir,  he  is  getting  quicker 
than  I  am.  I  wish  you  would  take  him  in  hand  and  give 
him  a  little  fencing." 

"  Who  told  you  I  could  fence  ?  "  said  the  Doctor. 

"  Why,  I  don't  know ;  no  one,  I  think.  I  have  judged, 
I  fancy,  more  by  seeing  you  flourish  your  walking-stick 
than  anything  else.  You  are  a  fencer,  are  you  not  ?  " 

The  Doctor  laughed.  He  was  in  fact  a  consummate 
maitre  d'armes  ;  and  Captain  Brentwood,  before  spoken 
of,  no  mean  fencer,  coming  to  Baroona  on  a  visit,  found 
that  our  friend  could  do  exactly  as  he  liked  with  him,  to 
the  Captain's  great  astonishment.  And  Sam  soon  im- 
proved under  his  tuition,  not  indeed  to  the  extent  of  being 
a  master  of  the  weapon  ;  he  was  too  large  and  loosely 
built  for  that ;  but,  at  all  events,  so  far  as  to  gain  an  up- 
right and  elastic  carriage,  and  to  learn  the  use  of  his 
limbs. 

The  Major  issued  an  edict,  giving  the  most  positive 

orders  against  its  infringement,  that  Sam  should  never 

mount  a  horse  without  his  special  leave  and  licence.     He 

taught  him  to  ride,  indeed,  but  would  not  give  him  much 

238 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

opportunity  for  practising  it.  Once  or  twice  a-week  he 
would  take  him  out,  but  seldom  oftener.  Sam,  who  never 
dreamt  of  questioning  the  wisdom  and  excellence  of  any 
of  his  father's  decisions,  rather  wondered  at  this ;  pon- 
dering in  his  own  mind  how  it  was  that,  while  all  the  lads 
he  knew  around,  now  getting  pretty  numerous,  lived,  as 
it  were,  on  horseback,  never  walking  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
on  any  occasion,  he  alone  should  be  discouraged  from  tf. 
"  Perhaps,"  he  said  to  himself  one  day,  "  he  doesn't  want 
me  to  make  many  acquaintances.  It  is  true,  Charley 
Delisle  smokes  and  swears,  which  is  very  ungentlemanly ; 
but  Cecil  Mayford,  Dad  says,  is  a  perfect  little  gentleman, 
and  I  ought  to  see  as  much  of  him  as  possible,  and  yet  he 
wouldn't  give  me  a  horse  to  go  to  their  muster.  Well,  I 
suppose  he  has  some  reason  for  it." 

One  holiday  the  Doctor  and  the  Major  were  sitting  in 
the  verandah  after  breakfast,  when  Sam  entered  to  them, 
and,  clambering  on  to  his  father  as  his  wont  was,  said, — 

"  See  here,  father !  Harry  is  getting  in  some  young 
beasts  at  the  stock-yard  hut,  and  Cecil  Mayford  is  coming 
over  to  see  if  any  of  theirs  are  among  them ;  may  I  go 
out  and  meet  him  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure,  my  boy ;  why  not  ?  " 

"  May  I  have  Bronsewing,  father  ?     He- is  in  the  stable." 

"It  is  a  nice  cool  day,  and  only  four  miles  ;  why  not 
walk  out,  my  boy  ?  " 

Sam  looked  disappointed,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  my  child,"  said  the  Major ;  "  Cecil 
will  be  there  on  Blackboy,  and  you  would  like  to  show 
him  that  Bronsewing  is  the  superior  pony  of  the  two. 
That's  all  very  natural ;  but  still  I  say,  get  your  hat,  Sam, 
and  trot  through  the  forest  on  your  own  two  legs,  and 
bring  Cecil  home  to  dinner." 

Sam  still  looked  disappointed,  though  he  tried  not  to 
show  it.  He  went  and  got  his  hat,  and,  meeting  the  dogs, 
got  such  a  wild  welcome  from  them  that  he  forgot  all 
about  Bronsewing.  Soon  his  father  saw  him  merrily  cross- 

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The  Recollections  of 

ing  the  paddock  with  the  whole  kennel  of  the  establish- 
ment, Kangaroo  dogs,  cattle  dogs,  and  colleys,  barking 
joyously  around  him. 

"  There's  a  good  lesson  manfully  learnt,  Doctor,"  said  the 
Major ;  "  he  has  learnt  to  sacrifice  his  will  to  mine  with- 
out argument,  because  he  knows  I  have  always  a  reason 
for  things.  I  want  that  boy  to  ride  as  little  as  possible, 
but  he  has  earned  an  exception  in  his  favour  to-day. — 
Jerry !  "  (After  a  few  calls  the  stableman  appeared.) 
"  Put  Mr.  Samuel's  saddle  on  Bronsewing,  and  mine  on 
Ricochette,  and  bring  them  round." 

So  Sam,  walking  cheerily  forward  singing,  under  the 
light  and  shadow  of  the  old  forest,  surrounded  by  his  dogs, 
hears  horses'  feet  behind  him,  and  looking  back  sees  his 
father  riding  and  leading  Bronsewing  saddled. 

"Jump  up,  my  boy,"  said  the  Major;  "Cecil  shall  see 
what  Bronsewing  is  like,  and  how  well  you  can  sit  him. 
The  reason  I  altered  my  mind  was  that  I  might  reward 
you  for  acting  like  a  man,  and  not  arguing.  Now,  I  don't 
want  you  to  ride  much  yet  for  a  few  years.  I  don't  want 
my  lad  to  grow  up  with  a  pair  of  bow  legs  like  a  groom, 
and  probably  something  worse,  from  living  on  horseback 
before  his  bones  are  set.  You  see  I  have  good  reason  for 
what  I  do." 

But  I  think  that  the  lessons  Sam  liked  best  of  all  were  the 
swimming  lessons,  and  at  a  very  early  age  he  could  swim 
and  dive  like  a  black,  and  once  when  disporting  himself 
in  the  water  when  not  more  than  thirteen,  poor  Sam  nearly 
had  a  stop  put  to  his  bathing  for  ever,  and  that  in  a  very 
frightful  manner. 

His  father  and  he  had  gone  down  to  bathe  one  hot 
noon  ;  the  Major  had  swum  out  and  was  standing  on  the 
rock  wiping  himself,  while  Sam  was  still  disporting  in  the 
mid-river ;  as  he  watched  the  boy  he  saw  what  seemed  a 
stick  upon  the  water,  and  then,  as  he  perceived  the  ripple 
around  it,  the  horrible  truth  burst  on  the  affrighted  father : 
it  was  a  large  black  snake  crossing  the  river,  and  poor 
240 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

little  Sam  was  swimming  straight  towards  it,  all  un- 
conscious of  his  danger. 

The  Major  cried  out  and  waved  his  hand  ;  the  boy  see- 
ing something  was  wrong,  turned  and  made  for  the  shore, 
and  the  next  moment  his  father,  bending  his  body  back, 
hurled  himself  through  the  air  and  alighted  in  the  water 
alongside  of  him,  clutching  him  round  the  body,  and  head- 
ing down  the  river  with  furious  strokes. 

"  Don't  cling,  Sam,  or  get  frightened  ;  make  for  the 
shore." 

The  lad,  although  terribly  frightened  at  he  knew  not 
what,  with  infinite  courage  seconded  his  father's  efforts 
although  he  felt  sinking.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  safe 
on  the  bank,  in  time  for  them  to  see  the  reptile  land,  and 
crawling  up  the  bank  disappear  among  the  rocks. 

"  God  has  been  very  good  to  us,  my  son.  You  have 
been  saved  from  a  terrible  death.  Mind  you  don't  breathe 
a  word  to  your  mother  about  this." 

That  night  Sam.  dreamt  that  he  was  in  the  coils  of  a 
snake,  but  waking  up  found  that  his  father  was  laid  be- 
side him  in  his  clothes  with  one  arm  round  his  neck,  so 
he  went  to  sleep  again  and  thought  no  more  of  the  snake. 

"  My  son,  if  sinners  entice  thee,  consent  thou  not  " — a 
saying  which  it  is  just  possible  you  have  heard  before.  I 
can  tell  you  where  it  comes  from  :  it  is  one  of  the  apoph- 
thegms of  the  king  of  a  little  eastern  nation  who  at  one 
time  were  settled  in  Syria,  and  whose  writings  are  not 
much  read  now-a-days,  in  consequence  of  the  vast  mass 
of  literature  of  a  superior  kind  which  this  happy  century 
has  produced.  I  can  recommend  the  book,  however,  as 
containing  some  original  remarks,  and  being  generally 
worth  reading.  The  meaning  of  the  above  quotation  (and 
the  man  who  said  it,  mind  you,  had  at  one  time  a  reputa- 
tion for  shrewdness),  is,  as  I  take  it,  that  a  man's  morals 
are  very  much  influenced  by  the  society  he  is  thrown 
among ;  and  although  in  these  parliamentary  times  we 
know  that  kings  must  of  necessity  be  fools,  yet  in  this 
241 


The  Recollections  of 

instance  I  think  that  the  man  shows  some  glimmerings  of 
reason,  for  his  remark  tallies  singularly  with  my  own  per- 
sonal observation ;  so,  acting  on  this,  while  I  am  giving 
you  the  history  of  this  little  wild  boy  of  the  bush,  I  cannot 
do  better  than  give  some  account  of  the  companions  with 
whom  he  chiefly  assorted  out  of  school-hours. 

With  broad  intelligent  forehead,  with  large  loving  hazel 
eyes,  with  a  frill  like  Queen  Elizabeth,  with  a  brush  like  a 
fox;  deep  in  the  brisket,  perfect  in  markings  of  black, 
white,  and  tan  ;  in  sagacity  a  Pitt,  in  courage  an  Anglesey, 
Rover  stands  first  on  my  list,  and  claims  to  be  king  of 
Colley-dogs.  In  politics  I  should  say  Conservative  of  the 
high  Protectionist  sort.  Let  us  have  no  strange  dogs 
about  the  place  to  grub  up  sacred  bones,  or  we  will  shake 
out  our  frills  and  tumble  them  in  the  dust.  Domestic  cats 
may  mioul  in  the  garden  at  night  to  a  certain  extent,  but 
a  line  must  be  drawn  ;  after  that  they  must  be  chased  up 
trees  and  barked  at,  if  necessary,  all  night.  Opossums 
and  native  cats,  are  unfit  to  cumber  the  earth,  and  must  be 
hunted  into  holes,  wherever  possible.  Cows  and  other 
horned  animals  must  not  come  into  the  yard,  or  even  look 
over  the  garden  fence,  under  penalties.  Black  fellows 
must  be  barked  at,  and  their  dogs  chased  to  the  uttermost 
limits  of  the  habitable  globe.  Such  were  the  chief  points 
of  the  creed  subscribed  to  by  Sam's  dog  Rover. 

All  the  love  that  may  be  between  dog  and  man,  and 
man  and  dog,  existed  between  Sam  and  Rover.  Never  a 
fresh  cheery  morning  when  the  boy  arose  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  another  happy  day  before  him,  but  that  the 
dog  was  waiting  for  him  as  he  stepped  from  his  window 
into  clear  morning  air.  Never  a  walk  in  the  forest,  but 
that  Rover  was  his  merry  companion.  And  what  would 
lessons  have  been  without  Rover  looking  in  now  and  then 
with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  his  ears  cocked,  to  know 
when  he  would  be  finished  and  come  out  to  play  ? 

Oh,  memorable  day,  when  Sam  got  separated  from  his 
father  in  Yaas,  and,  looking  back,  saw  a  cloud  of  dust  in 
242 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

the  road,  and  dimly  descried  Rover,  fighting  valiantly 
against  fearful  odds,  with  all  the  dogs  in  the  township  up- 
on him !  He  rode  back,  and  prayed  for  assistance  from  the 
men  lounging  in  front  of  the  public-house ;  who,  pitying 
his  distress,  pulled  off  all  the  dogs  till  there  were  only  left 
Rover  and  a  great  white  bulldog  to  do  battle.  The  tight 
seemed  going  against  Sam's  dog  ;  for  the  bulldog  had  him 
by  the  neck,  and  held  him  firm,  so  that  he  could  do 
nothing.  Nevertheless,  mind  yourself,  master  bulldog ; 
you've  only  got  a  mouthful  of  long  hair  there  ;  and  when 
you  do  let  go,  I  think,  there  is  danger  for  you  in  those 
fierce  gleaming  eyes,  and  terrible  grinning  fangs. 

Sam  was  crying ;  and  the  men  round  were  saying, 
"  Oh  !  take  the  bulldog  off  ;  the  colley's  no  good  to  him," 
— when  a  man  suddenly  appeared  at  Sam's  side,  and  called 
out, 

"  I'll  back  the  colley  for  five  pounds,  and  here's  my 
money !  " 

Half-a-dozen  five  pound  notes  were  ready  for  him  at 
once ;  and  he  had  barely  got  the  stakes  posted  before  the 
event  proved  he  was  right.  In  an  evil  moment  for  him 
the  bulldog  loosed  his  hold,  and,  ere  he  had  time  to  turn 
round,  Rover  had  seized  him  below  the  eye,  and  was  drag- 
ging him  about  the  road,  worrying  him  as  he  would  an 
opossum :  so  the  discomfited  owner  had  to  remove  his 
bulldog  to  save  his  life.  Rover,  after  showing  his  teeth 
and  shaking  himself,  came  to  Sam  as  fresh  as  a  daisy ; 
and  the  new  comer  pocketed  his  five  pounds. 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Sam,  turning  to 
him,  "  for  taking  my  dog's  part !  They  were  all  against 
me." 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  your  dog,  sir,  for  winning  me  five 
pounds  so  easy.  But  there  ain't  a  many  bad  dogs  or  bad 
men  either,  about  Major  Buckley's  house." 

"  Then  you  know  us  ?  "  said  Sam. 

"  Ought  to  it,  sir.  An  old  Devonshire  man.  Mr.  Ham- 
lyn's  stud-groom,  sir — Dick." 

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Well,  as  I  am  going  to  write  Rover's  life,  in  three  vol- 
umes post  octavo,  I  won't  any  further  entrench  on  my 
subject  matter,  save  to  say  that,  while  on  the  subject  of 
Sam's  education,  I  could  not  well  omit  a  notice  of  the 
aforesaid  Rover.  For  I  think  all  a  man  can  learn  from  a 
dog,  Sam  learnt  from  him ;  and  that  is  something.  Now 
let  us  go  on  to  the  next  of  his  notable  acquaintances. 

Who  is  this  glorious,  blue-eyed,  curly-headed  boy,  who 
bursts  into  the  house  like  a  whirlwind,  making  it  ring 
again  with  merry  laughter  ?  This  is  Jim  Brentwood,  of 
whom  we  shall  see  much  anon. 

At  Waterloo,  when  the  French  cavalry  were  coming  up 
the  hill,  and  our  artillerymen  were  running  for  the  squares, 
deftly  trundling  their  gun-wheels  before  them,  it  happened 
that  there  came  running  towards  the  square  where  Major 
Buckley  stood  like  a  tower  of  strength  (the  tallest  man  in 
the  regiment),  an  artillery  officer,  begrimed  with  mud  and 
gunpowder,  and  dragging  a  youth  by  the  collar,  or  rather, 
what  seemed  to  be  the  body  of  a  youth.  Some  cried  out 
to  him  to  let  go ;  but  he  looked  back,  seeming  to  measure 
the  distance  between  the  cavalry  and  the  square,  and  then, 
never  loosing  his  hold,  held  on  against  hope.  Every  one 
thought  he  would  be  too  late  ;  when  some  one  ran  out  of 
the  square  (men  said  it  was  Buckley),  and,  throwing  the 
wounded  lad  over  his  shoulder,  ran  with  him  into  safety ; 
and  a  cheer  ran  along  the  line  from  those  who  saw  him 
do  it.  Small  time  for  cheering  then ;  for  neither  could 
recover  his  breath  before  there  came  a  volley  of  musketry, 
and  all  around  them,  outside  the  bayonets,  was  a  wild 
sea  of  fierce  men's  faces,  horses'  heads,  gleaming  steel, 
and  French  blasphemy.  A  strange  scene  for  the  com- 
mencement of  an  acquaintance  !  And  yet  it  throve  ;  for 
that  same  evening,  Buckley,  talking  to  his  Colonel,  saw  the 
artillery  officer  coming  towards  them,  and  asked  who  he 
might  be  ? 

"  That,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  is  Brentwood  of  the  Artil- 
lery, who  ran  away  with  Lady  Kate  Bingley,  and  they 
244 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

haven't  a  rap  to  bless  themselves  with,  sir.  It  was  her 
brother  that  you  and  he  fetched  into  the  square  to-day." 

And  so  began  a  friendship  which  lasted  the  lives  of 
both  men  ;  and,  I  doubt  not,  will  last  their  sons'  lives  too. 
For  Brentwood  lived  within  thirty  miles  of  the  Major,  and 
their  sons  spent  much  of  their  time  together,  having  such 
a  friendship  for  one  another  as  only  boys  can  have. 

Captain  Brentwood's  son  Jim  was  a  very  different  boy 
to  Sam,  though  a  very  fine  fellow  too.  Mischief  and 
laughter  were  the  apparent  objects  of  his  life  ;  and  when 
the  Doctor  saw  him  approaching  the  house,  he  used  to 
put  away  Sam's  lesson-books  with  a  sigh  and  wait  for 
better  times.  The  Captain  had  himself  undertaken  his 
son's  education,  and,  being  a  somewhat  dreamy  man,  ex- 
cessively attached  to  mathematics,  Jim  had  got,  altogether, 
a  very  remarkable  education  indeed  ;  which,  however,  is 
hardly  to  our  purpose  just  now.  Brentwood,  I  must  say, 
was  a  widower,  and  a  kind-hearted,  easy-going  man  ;  he 
had,  besides,  a  daughter,  who  was  away  at  school. 
Enough  of  them  at  present. 

The  next  of  Sam's  companions  who  takes  an  important 
part  in  this  history  is  Cecil  Mayford — a  delicate,  clever 
little  dandy,  and  courageous  withal ;  with  more  brains  in 
his  head,  I  should  say,  than  Sam  and  Jim  could  muster 
between  them.  His  mother  was  a  widow,  who  owned  the 
station  next  down  the  river  from  the  Buckleys',  distant 
about  five  miles,  and  which,  since  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band, Doctor  Mayford,  she  had  managed  with  the  assis- 
tance of  an  overseer.  She  had,  besides  Cecil,  a  little 
daughter  of  great  beauty. 

Also,  I  must  here  mention  that  the  next  station  below 
Mrs.  Mayford's,  on  the  river,  distant  by  the  windings  of 
the  valley  fifteen  miles,  and  yet,  in  consequence  of  a  bend, 
scarcely  ten  from  Major  Buckley's  at  Baroona,  was  owned 
and  inhabited  by  Yahoos  (by  name  Donovan),  with  whom 
we  had  nothing  to  do.  But  this  aforesaid  station,  which 
is  called  Garoopna,  will  shortly  fall  into  other  hands,  when 

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you  will  see  that  many  events  of  deep  importance  will 
take  place  there,  and  many  pleasant  hours  spent  there  by 
all  our  friends,  more  particularly  one — by  name  Sam. 

There  is  one  other  left  of  whom  I  must  say  something 
here,  and  more  immediately.  The  poor,  puling  little  babe, 
born  in  misery  and  disaster,  Mary  Hawker's  boy  Charles  ! 

Toonarbin  was  but  a  short  ten  miles  from  Baroona, 
and,  of  course,  the  two  families  were  as  one.  There  was 
always  a  hostage  from  the  one  house  staying  as  a  visitor 
in  the  other ;  and,  under  such  circumstances,  of  course, 
Charles  and  Sam  were  much  together,  and,  as  time  went 
on,  got  to  be  firm  friends. 

Charles  was  two  years  younger  than  Sam  ;  the  smallest 
of  all  the  lads,  and  perhaps  the  most  unhappy.  For  the 
truth  must  be  told  :  he  was  morose  and  uncertain  in  his 
temper;  and  although  all  the  other  boys  bore  with  him 
most  generously,  as  one  of  whom  they  had  heard  that  he 
was  born  under  some  great  misfortune,  yet  he  was  hardly 
a  favourite  amongst  them ;  and  the  poor  boy,  sometimes 
perceiving  this,  would  withdraw  from  his  play,  and  sulk 
alone,  resisting  all  the  sober,  kind  inducements  of  Sam, 
and  the  merry  impetuous  persuasions  of  Jim,  to  return. 

But  he  was  a  kind,  good-hearted  boy,  nevertheless. 
His  temper  was  not  under  control ;  but,  after  one  of  his 
fierce,  volcanic  bursts  of  ill-humour,  he  would  be  acutely 
miserable  and  angry  with  himself  for  days,  particularly  if 
the  object  of  it  had  been  Jim  or  Sam,  his  two  especial 
favourites.  On  one  occasion,  after  a  causeless  fit  of  anger 
with  Jim,  while  the  three  were  at  Major  Buckley's  to- 
gether, he  got  his  pony  and  rode  away  home  secretly, 
speaking  to  no  one.  The  other  two  lamented  all  the 
afternoon  that  he  had  taken  the  matter  so  seriously,  and 
were  debating  even  next  morning  going  after  him  to  pro- 
pitiate him,  when  Charles  reappeared,  having  apparently 
quite  recovered  his  temper,  but  evidently  bent  upon  some- 
thing. 

He  had  a  bird,  a  white  corrella,  which  could  talk  and 
246 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

whistle  surprisingly,  probably,  in  fact,  the  most  precious 
thing  he  owned.  This  prodigy  he  had  now  brought  back 
in  his  basket  as  a  peace-offering,  and  refused  to  be  com- 
forted, unless  Jim  accepted  it  as  a  present. 

"  But  see,  Charley,"  said  Jim,  "  I  was  as  much  in  the 
wrong  as  you  were  "  (which  was  not  fact,  for  Jim  was  per- 
fectly innocent).  "  I  wouldn't  take  your  bird  for  the 
world." 

But  Charles  said  that  his  mother  approved  of  it,  and  if 
Jim  didn't  it  he'd  let  it  fly. 

"  Well,  if  you  will,  old  fellow,"  said  Jim,  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  would  rather  have.  Give  me  Fly's  dun  pup  instead, 
and  take  the  bird  home." 

So  this  was  negotiated  after  a  time,  and  the  corrella 
was  taken  back  to  Toonarbin,  wildly  excited  by  the  jour- 
ney, and  calling  for  strong  liquor  all  the  way  home. 

Those  who  knew  the  sad  circumstances  of  poor  Charles's 
birth  (the  Major,  the  Doctor,  and  Mrs.  Buckley)  treated 
him  with  such  kindness  and  consideration  that  they  won 
his  confidence  and  love.  In  any  of  his  Berserk  fits,  if  his 
mother  were  not  at  hand,  he  would  go  to  Mrs.  Buckley 
and  open  his  griefs  ;  and  her  motherly  tact  and  kindness 
seldom  failed  to  still  the  wild  beatings  of  that  poor,  sensi- 
tive, silly  little  heart,  so  that  in  time  he  grew  to  love  her 
as  only  second  to  his  mother. 

Such  is  my  brief  and  imperfect,  and  I  fear  tedious  ac- 
count of  Sam's  education,  and  of  the  companions  with 
whom  he  lived,  until  the  boy  had  grown  into  a  young 
man,  and  his  sixteenth  birthday  came  round,  on  which 
day,  as  had  been  arranged,  he  was  considered  to  have 
finished  his  education,  and  stand  up,  young  as  he  was,  as 
a  man. 

Happy  morning,  and  memorable  for  one  thing  at  least 
— that  his  father,  coming  into  his  bedroom  and  kissing 
his  forehead,  led  him  out  to  the  front  door,  where  was  a 
groom  holding  a  horse  handsomer  than  any  Sam  had  seen 
before,  which  pawed  the  gravel  impatient  to  be  ridden, 
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and  ere  Sam  had  exhausted  half  his  expressions  of  wonder 
and  admiration — that  his  father  told  him  the  horse  was 
his,  a  birth-day-present  from  his  mother. 


Chapter  XXIII 
Toonarbin 

"  BUT,"  I  think  I  hear  you  say,  "  what  has  become  of 
Mary  Hawker  all  this  time?  You  raised  our  interest 
about  her  somewhat,  at  first,  as  a  young  and  beautiful 
woman,  villain-beguiled,  who  seemed,  too,  to  have  a  tem- 
per of  her  own,  and  promised,  under  circumstances,  to 
turn  out  a  bit  of  a  b— mst — ne.  What  is  she  doing  all 
this  time  ?  Has  she  got  fat,  or  had  the  small-pox,  that 
you  neglect  her  like  this  ?  We  had  rather  more  than  we 
wanted  of  her  and  her  villanous  husband  in  the  first  part 
of  this  volume  ;  and  now  nothing.  Let  us,  at  all  events, 
hear  if  she  is  dead  or  alive.  And  her  husband,  too, — al- 
though we  hope,  under  Providence,  that  he  has  left  this 
wicked  world,  yet  we  should  be  glad  to  hear  of  it  for  cer- 
tain. Make  inquiries,  and  let  us  know  the  result.  Like- 
wise, be  so  good  as  inform  us,  how  is  Miss  Thornton  ?  " 

To  all  this  I  answer  humbly,  that  I  will  do  my  best. 
If  you  will  bring  a  dull  chapter  on  you,  duller  even  than 
all  the  rest,  at  least  read  it,  and  exonerate  me.  The  fact 
is,  my  dear  sir,  that  women  like  Mary  Hawker  are  not 
particularly  interesting  in  the  piping  times  of  peace.  In 
volcanic  and  explosive  times  they,  with  their  wild  animal 
passions,  become  tragical  and  remarkable,  like  baronesses 
of  old.  But  in  tranquil  times,  as  I  said,  they  fall  into  the 
background,  and  show  us  the  value  and  excellence  of  such 
placid,  noble  helpmates,  as  the  serene,  high-bred  Mrs. 
Buckley. 

A  creek  joined  the  river  about  a  mile  below  the  Buck- 
leys' station,  falling  into  the  main  stream  with  rather  a 
248 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

pretty  cascade,  which  even  at  the  end  of  the  hottest  sum- 
mer poured  a  tiny  silver  thread  across  the  black  rocks. 
Above  the  cascade  the  creek  cut  deep  into  the  table  land, 
making  a  charming  glen,  with  precipitous  bluestone  walks, 
some  eighty  or  ninety  feet  in  height,  fringed  with  black 
wattle  and  lightwood,  and  here  and  there,  among  the 
fallen  rocks  nearest  the  water,  a  fern  tree  or  so,  which  last 
I  may  say  are  no  longer  there,  Dr.  Mulhaus  having  cut 
the  hearts  out  of  them  and  eaten  them  for  cabbage. 
Should  you  wander  up  this  little  gully  on  a  hot  summer's 
day,  you  would  be  charmed  with  the  beauty  of  the  scen- 
ery, and  the  shady  coolness  of  the  spot ;  till  coming  upon 
a  black  snake  coiled  away  among  the  rocks,  like  a  rope  on 
the  deck  of  a  man  of  war,  you  would  probably  withdraw, 
not  without  a  strong  inclination  to  "  shy  "  at  every  black 
stick  you  saw  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  For  this  lower  part 
of  the  Moira  creek  was,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  the  most 
troubled  locality  for  snakes,  diamond,  black,  carpet,  and 
other,  which  I  ever  happened  to  see. 

But  following  this  creek  you  would  find  that  the  banks 
got  rapidly  less  precipitous,  and  at  length  it  swept  in  long 
curves  through  open  forest  glades,  spreading,  too,  into  deep 
dark  water-holes,  only  connected  by  gravelly  fords,  with  a 
slender  stream  of  clear  water  running  across  the  yellow 
pebbles.  These  water-holes  were  the  haunts  of  the  pla- 
typus and  the  tortoise.  Here,  too,  were  flocks  of  black 
duck  and  teal,  and  as  you  rode  past,  the  merry  little  snipe 
would  rise  from  the  water's  edge,  and  whisk  away  like 
lightning  through  the  trees.  Altogether,  a  pleasant  wood- 
land creek,  alongside  of  which,  under  the  mighty  box- 
trees,  ran  a  sandy  road,  bordered  with  deep  beds  of 
bracken  fern,  which  led  from  Baroona  of  the  Buckleys  to 
Toonarbin  of  the  Hawkers. 

A  pleasant  road,  indeed,  winding  through  the  old  forest 
straight  towards  the  mountains,  shifting  its  course  so  often 
that  every  minute  some  new  vista  opened  upon  you,  till  at 
length  you  came  suddenly  upon  a  clear  space,  beyond 

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The  Recollections  of 

vv 

which  rose  a  picturesque  little  granite  cap,  at  the  foot  of 
which  you  saw  a  charming  house,  covered  with  green 
creepers,  and  backed  by  huts,  sheepyards,  a  woolshed,  and 
the  usual  concomitants  of  a  flourishing  Australian  sheep 
station.  Behind  all  again  towered  lofty,  dark  hanging 
woods,  closing  the  prospect. 

This  is  Toonarbin,  where  Mary  Hawker,  with  her  leal 
and  trusty  cousin  Tom  Troubridge  for  partner,  has  pitched 
her  tent,  after  all  her  spasmodic,  tragical  troubles,  and 
here  she  is  leading  as  happy,  and  by  consequence  as  un- 
interesting, an  existence  as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  hand- 
some woman  yet. 

Mary  and  Miss  Thornton  had  stayed  with  the  Buckleys 
until  good  cousin  Tom  had  got  a  house  ready  to  receive 
them,  and  then  they  moved  up  and  took  possession.  Mary 
and  Tom  were  from  the  first  co-partners,  and  latterly, 
Miss  Thornton  had  invested  her  money,  about  ^2,000,  in 
the  station.  Matters  were  very  prosperous,  and,  after  a 
few  years,  Tom  began  to  get  weighty  and  didactic  in  his 
speech,  and  to  think  of  turning  his  attention  to  politics. 

To  Mary  the  past  seemed  like  a  dream — as  an  old 
dream,  well-nigh  forgotten.  The  scene  was  so  changed 
that  at  times  she  could  hardly  believe  that  all  those  dark 
old  days  were  real.  Could  she,  now  so  busy  and  happy, 
be  the  same  woman  who  sat  worn  and  frightened  over  the 
dying  fire  with  poor  Captain  Saxon  ?  Is  she  the  same 
woman  whose  husband  was  hurried  off  one  wild  night, 
and  transported  for  coining?  Or  is  all  that  a  hideous 
imagination  ? 

No.  Here  is  the  pledge  and  proof  that  it  is  all  too  ter- 
ribly real.  This  boy,  whom  she  loves  so  wildly  and  fiercely, 
is  that  man's  son,  and  his  father,  for  aught  she  knows,  is 
alive,  and  only  a  few  poor  hundred  miles  off.  Never 
mind  ;  let  it  be  forgotten  as  though  it  never  was.  So  she 
forgot  it,  and  was  happy. 

But  not  always.     Sometimes   she  could  not  but  re- 
member what  she  was,  in  spite  of  the  many  kind  friends 
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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

who  surrounded  her,  and  the  new  and  busy  life  she  led. 
Then  would  come  a  fit  of  despondency,  almost  of  despair, 
but  the  natural  elasticity  of  her  temper  soon  dispersed 
these  clouds,  and  she  was  her  old  self  again. 

Her  very  old  self,  indeed.  That  delicate-minded,  intel- 
lectual old  maid,  Miss  Thornton,  used  to  remark  with 
silent  horror  on  what  she  called  Mary's  levity  of  behaviour 
with  men,  but  more  especially  with  honest  Tom  Trou- 
bridge.  Many  a  time,  when  the  old  lady  was  sitting  darn- 
ing (she  was  always  darning ;  she  used  to  begin  darning 
the  things  before  they  were  a  week  out  of  the  draper's 
shop),  would  her  tears  fall  upon  her  work,  as  she  saw 
Mary  sitting  with  her  child  in  her  lap,  smiling,  while  the 
audacious  Tom  twisted  a  flower  in  her  hair,  in  the  way 
that  pleased  him  best.  To  see  anything  wrong,  and  to 
say  nothing,  was  a  thing  impossible.  She  knew  that 
speaking  to  Mary  would  only  raise  a  storm,  and  so,  know- 
ing the  man  she  had  to  deal  with,  she  determined  to  speak 
to  Tom. 

She  was  not  long  without  her  opportunity.  Duly  darn- 
ing one  evening,  while  Mary  was  away  putting  her  boy  to 
bed,  Tom  entered  from  his  wine.  Him,  with  a  combina- 
tion of  valour  and  judgment,  she  immediately  attacked, 
acting  upon  a  rule  once  laid  down  to  Mary — "  My  dear,  if 
you  want  to  manage  a  man,  speak  to  him  after  dinner." 

"  Mr.  Troubridge,"  said  Miss  Thornton.  "  May  I  speak 
a  few  words  to  you  on  private  affairs  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  said  Tom,  drawing  up  a  chair,  "  I  am  at 
your  service  night  or  day." 

"  A  younger  woman,"  said  Miss  Thornton,  "  might  feel 
some  delicacy  in  saying  what  I  am  going  to  say.  But  old 
age  has  its  privileges,  and  so  I  hope  to  be  forgiven." 

"  Dear  Miss  Thornton,"  said  Tom,  "  you  must  be  going 
to  say  something  very  extraordinary  if  it  requires  forgive- 
ness from  me." 

"  Nay,  my  dear  kinsman,"  said  Miss  Thornton  ;  "  if  we 
begin  exchanging  compliments,  we  shall  talk  all  night, 
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and  never  get  to  the  gist  of  the  matter  after  all.  Here  is 
what  I  want  to  say.  It  seems  to  me  that  your  attentions 
to  our  poor  Mary  are  somewhat  more  than  cousinly,  and 
it  behoves  me  to  remind  you  that  she  is  still  a  married 
woman.  Is  that  too  blunt  ?  Have  I  offended  you  ?  " 

"  Nay — no,"  said  Tom  ;  "  you  could  never  offend  me. 
I  think  you  are  right  too.  It  shall  be  amended,  madam." 

And  after  this  Mary  missed  many  delicate  little  atten- 
tions that  Tom  had  been  used  to  pay  her.  She  thought 
he  was  sulky  on  some  account  at  first,  but  soon  her  good 
sense  showed  her  that,  if  they  two  were  to  live  together, 
she  must  be  more  circumspect,  or  mischief  would  come. 

For,  after  all,  Tom  had  but  small  place  in  her  heart — 
heart  filled  almost  exclusively  with  this  poor  sulky  little  lad 
of  hers,  who  seemed  born  to  trouble,  as  the  sparks  went 
upward.  In  teething  even,  aggravating  beyond  experience, 
and  afterwards  suffering  from  the  whole  list  of  juvenile 
evils  in  such  a  way  as  boy  never  did  before  ;  coming  out 
of  these  troubles  too,  with  a  captious,  disagreeable  temper, 
jealous  in  the  extreme, — not  a  member  who,  on  the  whole, 
adds  much  to  the  pleasure  of  the  little  household, — yet 
with  the  blindest  love  towards  some  folks.  Instance  his 
mother,  Thomas  Troubridge,  and  Sam  Buckley. 

For  these  three  the  lad  had  a  wild  hysterical  affection, 
and  yet  none  of  them  had  much  power  over  him.  Once 
by  one  unconsidered  word  arouse  the  boy's  obstinacy, 
and  all  chance  of  controlling  him  was  gone.  Then,  your 
only  chance  was  to  call  in  Miss  Thornton,  who  had  a  way 
of  managing  the  boy,  more  potent  than  Mary's  hysterics, 
and  Tom's  indignant  remonstrances,  or  Sam's  quiet  per- 
suasions. 

For  instance, — once,  when  he  was  about  ten  years  old, 
his  mother  set  him  to  learn  some  lesson  or  another,  when 
he  had  been  petitioning  to  go  off  somewhere  with  the 
men.  He  was  furiously  naughty,  and  threw  the  book  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  all  the  threats  and  scoldings  of 
his  mother  proving  insufficient  to  make  him  pick  it  up 
252 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

again.  So  that  at  last  she  went  out,  leaving  him  alone, 
triumphant,  with  Miss  Thornton,  who  said  not  a  word, 
but  only  raised  her  eyes  off  her  work,  from  time  to  time, 
to  look  reproachfully  on  the  rebellious  boy.  He  could 
stand  his  mother's  anger,  but  he  could  not  stand  those 
steady  wondering  looks  that  came  from  under  the  old 
lady's  spectacles.  So  that,  when  Mary  came  in  again,  she 
found  the  book  picked  up,  and  the  lesson  learned.  More- 
over, it  was  a  fortnight  before  the  lad  misbehaved  himself 
again. 

In  sickness  and  in  health,  in  summer  and  in  winter,  for 
ten  long  years  after  they  settled  at  Toonarbin,  did  this 
noble  old  lady  stand  beside  Mary  as  a  rock  of  refuge  in 
all  troubles,  great  or  small.  Always  serene,  patient,  and 
sensible,  even  to  the  last ;  for  the  time  came  when  this 
true  and  faithful  servant  was  removed  from  among  them 
to  receive  her  reward. 

One  morning  she  confessed  herself  unable  to  leave  her 
bed ;  that  was  the  first  notice  they  had.  Doctor  May- 
ford,  sent  for  secretly,  visited  her.  "  Break  up  of  the 
constitution,"  said  he, — "  no  organic  disease," — but  shook 
his  head.  "  She  will  go,"  he  added,  "  with  the  first  frost. 
I  can  do  nothing."  And  Dr.  Mulhaus,  being  consulted, 
said  he  was  but  an  amateur  doctor,  but  concurred  with 
Dr.  Mayford.  So  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  for 
the  end  as  patiently  as  might  be. 

During  the  summer  she  got  out  of  bed,  and  sat  in  a 
chair,  which  Tom  used  to  lift  dexterously  into  the  veran- 
dah. There  she  would  sit  very  quietly ;  sometimes  get- 
ting Mrs.  Buckley,  who  came  and  lived  at  Toonarbin  that 
summer,  to  read  a  hymn  for  her ;  and,  during  this  time, 
she  told  them  where  she  would  like  to  be  buried. 

On  a  little  knoll,  she  said,  which  lay  to  the  right  of  the 
house,  barely  two  hundred  yards  from  the  window.  Here 
the  grass  grew  shorter  and  closer  than  elsewhere,  and 
here  freshened  more  rapidly  beneath  the  autumn  rains. 
Here,  on  winter's  evenings,  the  slanting  sunbeams 

253 


The  Recollections  of 

lingered  longest,  and  here,  at  such  times,  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  saunter,  listening  to  the  sighing  of  the 
wind,  in  the  dark  funereal  sheoaks  and  cypresses,  like  the 
far-off  sea  upon  a  sandy  shore.  Here,  too,  came  oftener 
than  elsewhere  a  flock  of  lories,  making  the  dark  low  trees 
gay  with  flying  living  blossoms.  And  here  she  would  lie 
with  her  feet  towards  the  east,  her  sightless  eyes  towards 
that  dreary  ocean  which  she  would  never  cross  again. 

One  fresh  spring  morning  she  sat  up  and  talked  serene- 
ly to  Mrs.  Buckley,  about  matters  far  higher  and  more 
sacred  than  one  likes  to  deal  with  in  a  tale  of  this  kind, 
and,  after  a  time,  expressed  a  wish  for  a  blossom  of  a 
great  amaryllis  which  grew  just  in  front  of  her  window. 

Mrs.  Buckley  got  the  flower  for  her ;  and  so,  holding 
the  crimson-striped  lily  in  her  delicate,  wasted  fingers,  the 
good  old  lady  passed  from  this  world  without  a  struggle, 
as  decently  and  as  quietly  as  she  had  always  lived  in  it. 

^c  :£  ^e  ^c  ^e  ^c 

This  happened  when  Charles  was  about  ten  years  old, 
and,  for  some  time,  the  lad  was  subdued  and  sad.  He 
used  to  look  out  of  the  window  at  night  towards  the  grave, 
and  wonder  why  they  had  put  her  they  all  loved  so  well, 
to  lie  out  there  under  the  wild-sweeping  winter  rain.  But, 
by  degrees,  he  got  used  to  the  little  square  white  railing 
on  the  sheoak  knoll,  and,  ere  half  a  year  was  gone,  the 
memory  of  his  aunt  had  become  very  dim  and  indistinct. 

Poor  Mary,  too,  though  a  long  while  prepared  for  it, 
was  very  deeply  and  sincerely  grieved  at  Miss  Thornton's 
death ;  but  she  soon  recovered  from  it.  It  came  in  the 
course  of  nature,  and,  although  the  house  looked  blank 
and  dull  for  a  time,  yet  there  was  too  much  life  all  around 
her,  too  much  youthful  happy  life,  to  make  it  possible 
to  dwell  very  long  on  the  death  of  one  who  had  left  them 
full  of  years  and  honour.  But  Lord  Frederick  (before 
spoken  of  incidentally  in  this  narrative),  playing  billiards 
at  Gibraltar,  about  a  year  after  this,  had  put  into  his  hand 
a  letter,  from  which,  when  opened,  there  fell  a  lock  of 

254 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

silver  grey  hair  on  the  green  cloth,  which  he  carefully 
picked  up,  and,  leaving  his  game,  went  home  to  his  quar- 
ters. His  comrades  thought  it  was  his  father  who  was 
dead,  and  when  they  heard  it  was  only  his  sister's  old 
governess,  they  wondered  exceedingly  ;  "  for  Fred,"  said 
they,  "  is  not  given  to  be  sentimental." 

And  now,  in  a  year  or  two,  it  began  to  be  very  difficult 
to  keep  Master  Charley  in  order.  When  he  was  about 
thirteen,  there  was  a  regular  guerrilla-war  between  him 
and  his  mother,  on  the  subject  of  learning,  which  ended, 
ultimately,  in  the  boy  flatly  refusing  to  learn  anything. 
His  natural  capacities  were  but  small,  and,  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, knowledge  would  only  have  been  acquired  by 
him  with  infinite  pains.  But,  as  it  was,  with  his  selfish- 
ness fostered  so  excessively  by  his  mother's  indulgence, 
and  Tom's  good-humoured  carelessness,  it  became  totally 
impossible  to  teach  him  anything.  In  vain  his  mother 
scolded  and  wept,  in  vain  Tom  represented  to  him  the 
beauties  and  excellences  of  learning — learn  the  boy  would 
not ;  so  that  at  fourteen  he  was  given  up  in  despair  by 
his  mother,  having  learnt  nearly  enough  of  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  ciphering,  to  carry  on  the  most  ordinary  business 
of  life, — a  most  lamentable  state  of  things  for  a  lad  who, 
in  after  life,  would  be  a  rich  man,  and  who,  in  a  young 
and  rapidly-rising  country,  might  become,  by  the  help  of 
education,  politically  influential. 

I  think  that  when  Samuel  Buckley  and  James  Brent- 
wood  were  grown  to  be  young  men  of  eighteen  or  nine- 
teen, and  he  was  about  seventeen  or  so,  a  stranger  would 
have  seen  a  great  deal  of  difference  between  the  two 
former  and  the  latter,  and  would,  probably,  have  remarked 
that  James  and  Sam  spoke  and  behaved  like  two  gentle- 
men, but  that  Charles  did  not,  but  seemed  as  though  he 
had  come  from  a  lower  grade  in  society, — with  some 
truth  too,  for  there  was  a  circumstance  in  his  bringing  up 
which  brought  him  more  harm  than  all  his  neglect  of 
learning,  and  all  his  mother's  foolish  indulgences. 

255 


The  Recollections  of 

Both  Major  Buckley  and  Captain  Brentwood  made  it  a 
law  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  that  neither  of  their  sons 
should  hold  any  conversation  with  the  convict  servants, 
save  in  the  presence  of  competent  authorities ;  and,  indeed, 
they  both,  as  soon  as  increased  emigration  enabled  them, 
removed  their  old  household  servants,  and  replaced  them 
by  free  men,  newly  arrived  :  a  lazy  independent  class,  cer- 
tainly, with  exaggerated  notions  of  their  own  importance 
in  this  new  phase  of  their  life,  but  without  the  worse  vices 
of  the  convicts.  This  rule,  even  in  such  well-regulated 
households,  was  a  very  hard  one  to  get  observed,  even  un- 
der flogging  penalties ;  and,  indeed,  formed  the  staple 
affliction  of  poor  thoughtless  Jim's  early  life,  as  this  little 
anecdote  will  show  : — 

One  day  going  to  see  Captain  Brentwood,  when  Jim  was 
about  ten  years  old,  I  met  that  young  gentleman  (looking, 
I  thought,  a  little  out  of  sorts)  about  two  hundred  yards 
from  the  house.  He  turned  with  me  to  go  back,  and,  after 
the  first  salutations,  I  said, — 

"  Well,  Jim,  my  boy,  I  hope  you've  been  good  since  I 
saw  you  last  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  shake  of  th$head 
that  meant  volumes. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that ;  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I've  been  catching  it,"  said  Jim,  in  a  whisper,  coming 
close  alongside  of  me.  "  A  tea-stick  as  thick  as  my  fore- 
finger all  over." — Here  he  entered  into  particulars,  which, 
however  harmless  in  themselves,  were  not  of  a  sort  usually 
written  in  books. 

"  That's  a  bad  job,"  I  said  ;  "  what  was  it  for  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  slipped  off  with  Jerry  to  look  after  some  colts 
on  the  black  swamp,  and  was  gone  all  the  afternoon  ;  and 
so  Dad  missed  me  ;  and  when  I  got  home  didn't  I  catch  it ! 
Oh  Lord,  I'm  all  over  blue  wales  ;  but  that  ain't  the  worst." 

"  What's  the  next  misfortune?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Why,  when  he  got  hold  of  me  he  said, '  Is  this  the  first 
time  you  have  been  away  with  Jerry,  sir  ?  '  and  I  said  '  Yes' 
256 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

(which  was  the  awfullest  lie  ever  you  heard,  for  I  went 
over  to  Barker's  with  him  two  days  before) ;  then  he  said, 
'  Well,  I  must  believe  you  if  you  say  so.  I  shall  not  dis- 
grace you  by  making  inquiries  among  the  men  ; '  and  then 
he  gave  it  me  for  going  that  time,  and  since  then  I've  felt 
like  Cain  and  Abel  for  telling  him  such  a  lie.  What  would 
you  do — eh  ?  " 

"  I  should  tell  him  all  about  it,"  I  said. 

"  Ah,  but  then  I  shall  catch  it  again,  don't  you  see ! 
Hadn't  I  better  wait  till  these  wales  are  gone  down  ?  " 

"  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,"  I  answered;  "  I'd  tell  him 
at  once." 

"  I  wonder  why  he  is  so  particular,"  said  Jim  ;  "  the 
Delisles  and  the  Donovans  spend  as  much  of  their  time  in 
the  huts  as  they  do  in  the  house." 

"  And  fine  young  blackguards  they'll  turn  out,"  I  said ; 
in  which  I  was  right  in  those  two  instances.  And  although 
I  have  seen  young  fellows  brought  up  among  convicts 
who  have  turned  out  respectable  in  the  end,  yet  it  is  not  a 
promising  school  for  good  citizens. 

But  at  Toonarbin  no  such  precautions  as  these  were 
taken  with  regard  to  Charles.  Tom  was  too  careless  and 
Mary  too  indulgent.  It  was  hard  enough  to  restrain  the 
boy  during  the  lesson  hours,  falsely  so  called.  After  that 
he  was  allowed  to  go  where  he  liked,  and  even  his  mother 
sometimes  felt  relieved  by  his  absence ;  so  that  he  was 
continually  in  the  men's  huts,  listening  to  their  yarns—- 
sometimes harmless  bush  adventures,  sometimes,  perhaps, 
ribald  stories  which  he  could  not  understand ;  but  one  day 
Tom  Troubridge  coming  by  the  hut  looked  in  quietly,  and 
saw  master  Charles  smoking  a  black  pipe,  (he  was  not  more 
than  fourteen,)  and  heard  such  a  conversation  going 'on 
that  he  advanced  suddenly  upon  them,  and  ordered  the 
boy  home  in  a  sterner  tone  than  he  had  ever  used  to  him 
before,  and  looked  out  of  the  door  till  he  had  disappeared. 
Then  he  turned  round  to  the  men. 

There  were  three  of  them,  all  convicts,  one  of  whom, 

257 


The  Recollections  of 

the  one  he  had  heard  talking  when  he  came  in,  was  a 
large,  desperate-looking  fellow.  When  these  men  mean 
to  deprecate  your  anger,  I  have  remarked  they  always  look 
you  blankly  in  the  face ;  but  if  they  mean  to  defy  you  and 
be  impudent,  they  never  look  at  you,  but  always  begin 
fumbling  and  fidgetting  with  something.  So  when  Tom 
saw  that  the  big  man  before  mentioned  (Daniel  Harvey 
by  name)  was  stooping  down  before  the  fire,  he  knew  he 
was  going  to  have  a  row,  and  waited. 

"  So  boss,"  began  the  ruffian,  not  looking  at  him,  "  we 
ain't  fit  company  for  the  likes  of  that  kinchin, — eh  ?  " 

"  You're  not  fit  company  for  any  man  except  the  hang- 
man," said  Tom  looking  more  like  six-foot-six  than  six- 
foot-three. 

"  Oh  my — colonial  oath  !  "  said  the  other  ;  "  oh  my — • 
'  cabbage  tree  ! '  So  there's  going  to  be  a  coil  about  that 
scrubby  little  myrnonger ;  eh  ?  Don't  you  fret  your  bingy,* 
boss  ;  he'll  be  as  good  a  man  as  his  father  yet." 

For  an  instant  a  dark  shadow  passed  over  Tom's  face. 

"  So,"  he  thought,  "  these  fellows  know  all  about  George 
Hawker,  eh  ?  Well,  never  mind ;  what  odds  if  they  do  ?  " 
And  then  he  said  aloud,  turning  round  on  Harvey,  "  Look 
you  here,  you  dog ;  if  I  ever  hear  of  your  talking  in  that 
style  before  that  boy,  or  any  other  boy,  by  George  I'll 
twist  your  head  off  !  " 

He  advanced  towards  him,  as  if  to  perform  that  feat  on 
the  spot ;  in  a  moment  the  convict  had  snatched  his  knife 
from  his  belt  and  rushed  upon  him. 

Very  suddenly  indeed ;  but  not  quite  quick  enough  to 
take  the  champion  of  Devon  by  surprise.  Ere  he  was  well 
within  reach  Tom  had  seized  the  hand  that  held  the  knife, 
and  with  a  backward  kick  of  his  left  foot  sent  the  embryo 
assassin  sprawling  on  his  back  on  the  top  of  the  fire, 
whence  Tom  dragged  him  by  his  heels,  far  more  aston- 
ished than  burnt.  The  other  two  men  had,  meanwhile, 

*  As  a  specimen  of  colonial  slang,  the  above  is  not  in  the  least 
exaggerated. 

258 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

sat  taking  no  notice,  or  seeming  to  take  none,  of  the  dis- 
turbance. Now,  however,  one  of  them  spoke,  and  said, — 

"  I'm  sure,  sir,  you  didn't  hear  me  say  nothing  wrong  to 
the  young  gent,"  and  so  on,  in  a  whining  tone,  till  Tom 
cut  him  short  by  saying  that,  "  if  he  had  any  more  non- 
sense among  them,  he  would  send  'em  all  three  over  to 
Captain  Desborough,  to  the  tune  of  fifty  (lashes)  a  piece. ' 

After  this  little  entente  Charles  did  not  dare  to  go  into 
the  huts,  and  soon  after  these  three  men  were  exchanged. 
But  there  remained  one  man  whose  conversation  and 
teaching,  though  not,  perhaps,  so  openly  outrageously  vil- 
lanous  as  that  of  the  worthy  Harvey,  still  had  a  very  un- 
fortunate effect  on  his  character. 

This  was  a  rather  small,  wiry,  active  man,  by  name 
Jackson,  a  native,  colonially  convicted,*  very  clever  among 
horses,  a  capital  light-weight  boxer,  and  in  running  su- 
perb, a  pupil  and  protege"  of  the  immortal  "  flying  pie- 
man," **  (May  his  shadow  never  be  less  !)  a  capital  crick- 
eter, and  a  supreme  humbug.  This  man,  by  his  various 
accomplishments  and  great  tact,  had  won  a  high  place  in 
Tom  Troubridge's  estimation,  and  was  put  in  a  place  of 
trust  among  the  horses ;  consequently  having  continual 
access  to  Charles,  to  whom  he  made  himself  highly 
agreeable,  as  being  heir  to  the  property ;  giving  him  such 
insights  into  the  worst  side  of  sporting  life,  and  such 
truthful  accounts  of  low  life  in  Sidney,  as  would  have  gone 
far  to  corrupt  a  lad  of  far  stronger  moral  principle  than  he. 

And  so,  between  this  teaching  of  evil  and  neglect  of 
good,  Mary  Hawker's  boy  did  not  grow  up  all  that  might 
be  desired.  And  at  seventeen,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  he  got 
into  a  most  disreputable  connexion  with  a  Highland  girl, 
at  one  of  the  Donovans'  out-station  huts ;  which  caused 
his  kindly  guardian,  Tom  Troubridge,  a  great  deal  of 

*  A  man  born  in  the  colony,  of  European  parents,  convicted  of 
some  crime  committed  in  the  colony. 

**  A  great  Australian  pedestrian  ;  now,  I  believe,  gathered  to  his 
fathers. 

259 


The  Recollections  of 

vexation,  and  his  mother  the  deepest  grief ;  which  was 
much  increased  at  the  same  time  by  something  I  will  re- 
late in  the  next  chapter. 

So  sixteen  years  rolled  peacefully  away,  chequered  by 
such  trifling  lights  and  shadows  as  I  have  spoken  of.  The 
new  generation,  the  children  of  those  whom  we  knew  at 
first,  are  now  ready  to  take  their  places,  and  bear  them- 
selves with  more  or  less  credit  in  what  may  be  going  on. 
And  now  comes  a  period  which  in  the  memory  of  all 
those  whom  I  have  introduced  to  you  ranks  as  the  most 
important  of  their  lives.  To  me,  looking  back  upon  near- 
ly sixty  years  of  memory,  the  events  which  are  coming 
stand  out  from  the  rest  of  my  quiet  life,  well  defined  and 
remarkable,  above  all  others.  As  looking  on  our  western 
moors,  one  sees  the  long  straight  sky-line,  broken  only 
once  in  many  miles  by  some  fantastic  Tor. 


Chapter  XXIV 
In  which  Mary  Hawker  loses  one  of  her  oldest  Sweethearts 

SIXTEEN  years  of  peace  and  plenty  had  rolled  over  the 
heads  of  James  Stockbridge  and  myself,  and  we  had 
grown  to  be  rich.  Our  agent  used  to  rub  his  hands,  and 
bow,  whenever  our  high  mightinesses  visited  town.  There 
was  money  in  the  bank,  there  was  claret  in  the  cellar, 
there  were  race-horses  in  the  paddock  ;  in  short,  we  were 
wealthy  prosperous  men — James  a  magistrate. 

November  set  in  burning  hot,  and  by  the  tenth  the  grass 
was  as  dry  as  stubble  ;  still  we  hoped  for  a  thunderstorm 
and  a  few  days'  rain,  but  none  came.  December  wore 
wearily  on,  and  by  Christmas  the  smaller  creeks,  except 
those  which  were  snow-fed,  were  reduced  to  a  few  muddy 
pools,  and  vast  quantities  of  cattle  were  congregated  with- 
in easy  reach  of  the  river,  from  other  people's  runs,  miles 
away. 

260 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Of»cour§e,  feed  began  to  get  very  scarce,  yet  we  were 
hardly  so  bad  off  yet  as  our  neighbours,  for  we  had  just 
parted  with  every  beast  we  could  spare,  at  high  prices,  to 
Port  Philip,  and  were  only  waiting  for  the  first  rains  to 
start  after  store  cattle,  which  were  somewhat  hard  to  get 
near  the  new  colony. 

No  rain  yet,  and  we  were  in  the  end  of  January ;  the 
fountains  of  heaven  were  dried  up,  but  now  all  round  the 
northern  horizon  the  bush-fires  burnt  continually,  a  pillar 
of  smoke  by  day,  and  a  pillar  of  fire  by  night. 

Nearer,  by  night,  like  an  enemy  creeping  up  to  a  be- 
leaguered town.  The  weather  had  been  very  still  for  some 
time,  and  we  took  precaution  to  burn  great  strips  of  grass 
all  round  the  paddocks  to  the  north,  but,  in  spite  of  all  our 
precautions,  I  knew  that,  should  a  strong  wind  come  on 
from  that  quarter,  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  would  save  us. 

But  as  yet  the  weather  was  very  still,  not  very  bright, 
but  rather  cloudy,  and  a  dense  haze  of  smoke  was  over 
everything,  making  the  distances  look  ten  times  as  far  as 
they  really  were,  and  rendering  the  whole  landscape  as 
grey  and  melancholy  as  you  can  conceive.  There  was 
nothing  much  to  be  done,  but  to  sit  in  the  verandah, 
drinking  claret-and-water,  and  watching  and  hoping  for  a 
thunderstorm. 

On  the  third  of  February  the  heat  was  worse  than  ever, 
but  there  was  no  wind  ;  and  as  the  sun  went  down  among 
the  lurid  smoke,  red  as  blood,  I  thought  I  made  out  a  few 
white  brush-shaped  clouds  rising  in  the  north. 

Jim  and  I  sat  there  late,  not  talking  much.  We  knew 
that  if  we  were  to  be  burnt  out  our  loss  would  be  very 
heavy ;  but  we  thanked  God  that  even  were  we  to  lose 
everything  it  would  not  be  irreparable,  and  that  we  should 
still  be  wealthy.  Our  brood  mares  and  racing  stock  were 
our  greatest  anxiety.  We  had  a  good  stack  of  hay,  by 
which  we  might  keep  them  alive  for  another  month,  sup- 
posing all  the  grass  was  burnt ;  but  if  we  lost  that,  our 
horses  would  probably  die.  I  said  at  last, — 
261 


The  Recollections  of 

"  Jim,  we  may  make  up  our  minds  to  have  the  run 
swept.  The  fire  is  burning  up  now." 

"  Yes,  it  is  brightening,"  said  he,  "  but  it  must  be  twenty 
miles  off  still,  and  if  it  comes  down  with  a  gentle  wind  we 
shall  save  the  paddocks  and  hay.  There  is  a  good  deal  of 
grass  in  the  lower  paddock.  I  am  glad  we  had  the  fore- 
thought not  to  feed  it  down.  Well,  fire  or  no  fire,  I  shall 
go  to  bed." 

We  went  to  bed,  and,  in  spite  of  anxiety,  mosquitoes, 
and  heat,  I  fell  asleep.  In  the  grey  morning  I  was  awa- 
kened, nearly  suffocated,  by  a  dull  continuous  roar.  It  was 
the  wind  in  the  chimney.  The  north  wind,  so  long  im- 
prisoned, had  broke  loose,  and  the  boughs  were  crashing, 
and  the  trees  were  falling,  before  the  majesty  of  his  wrath. 

I  ran  out,  and  met  James  in  the  verandah.  "  It's  all 
up,"  I  said.  "  Get  the  women  and  children  into  the  river, 
and  let  the  men  go  up  to  windward  with  the  sheep-skins.* 
I'll  get  on  horseback,  and  go  out  and  see  how  the  Mor- 
gans get  on.  That  obstinate  fellow  will  wish  he  had 
come  in  now." 

Morgan  was  a  stockman  of  ours,  who  lived,  with  a  wife 
and  two  children,  about  eight  miles  to  the  northward. 
We  always  thought  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  to 
move  in,  but  he  had  put  it  off,  and  now  the  fire  had  taken 
us  by  surprise. 

I  rode  away,  dead-up  wind.  Our  station  had  a  few 
large  trees  about  it,  and  then  all  was  clear  plain  and  short 
grass  for  two  miles  ;  after  that  came  scrubby  ranges,  in  an 
open  glade  of  which  the  Morgans'  hut  stood.  I  feared, 
from  the  density  of  the  smoke,  that  the  fire  had  reached 
them  already,  but  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  go  and  see,  for 
I  might  meet  them  fleeing,  and  help  them  with  the  chil- 
dren. 

I  had  seen  many  bush-fires,  but  never  such  a  one  as 
this.  The  wind  was  blowing  a  hurricane,  and,  when  I 

*Sheep-skins,  on  sticks,  used  for  beating  out  the  fire  when  in 
short  grass. 

262 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

had  ridden  about  two  miles  into  scrub,  high  enough  to 
brush  my  horse's  belly,  I  began  to  get  frightened.  Still  I 
persevered,  against  hope ;  the  heat  grew  more  fearful 
every  moment ;  but  I  reflected  that  I  had  often  ridden  up 
close  to  a  bush-fire,  turned  when  I  began  to  see  the  flame 
through  the  smoke,  and  cantered  away  from  it  easily. 

Then  it  struck  me  that  I  had  never  yet  seen  a  bush-fire 
in  such  a  hurricane  as  this.  Then  I  remembered  stories 
of  men  riding  for  their  lives,  and  others  of  burnt  horses 
and  men  found  in  the  bush.  And,  now,  I  saw  a  sight 
which  made  me  turn  in  good  earnest. 

I  was  in  lofty  timber,  and,  as  I  paused,  I  heard  the 
mighty  crackling  of  fire  coming  through  the  wood.  At 
the  same  instant  the  blinding  smoke  burst  into  a  million 
tongues  of  flickering  flame,  and  I  saw  the  fire — not  where 
I  had  ever  seen  it  before — not  creeping  along  among  the 
scrub — but  up  aloft,  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  overhead. 
It  had  caught  the  dry  bituminous  tops  of  the  higher 
boughs,  and  was  flying  along  from  tree-top  to  tree-top 
like  lightning.  Below,  the  wind  was  comparatively  mod- 
erate, but,  up  there,  it  was  travelling  twenty  miles  an  hour. 
I  saw  one  tree  ignite  like  gun-cotton,  and  then  my  heart 
grew  small,  and  I  turned  and  fled. 

I  rode  as  I  never  rode  before.  There  were  three  miles 
to  go  ere  I  cleared  the  forest,  and  got  among  the  short 
grass,  where  I  could  save  myself — three  miles !  Ten 
minutes  nearly  of  intolerable  heat,  blinding  smoke,  and 
mortal  terror.  Any  death  but  this !  Drowning  were 
pleasant,  glorious  to  sink  down  into  the  cool  sparkling 
water.  But,  to  be  burnt  alive  !  Fool  that  I  was  to  vent- 
ure so  far  !  I  would  give  all  my  money  now  to  be  naked 
and  penniless,  rolling  about  in  a  cool  pleasant  river. 

The  maddened,  terrified  horse  went  like  the  wind,  but 
not  like  the  hurricane — that  was  too  swift  for  us.  The 
fire  had  outstripped  us  overhead,  and  I  could  see  it  dimly 
through  the  infernal  choking  reek,  leaping  and  blazing  a 
hundred  yards  before  us,  among  the  feathery  foliage,  de- 
263 


The  Recollections  of 

vouring  it,  as  the  south  wind  devours  the  thunder  clouds. 
Then  I  could  see  nothing.  Was  I  clear  of  the  forest  ? 
Thank  the  Lord,  yes — I  was  riding  over  grass. 

I  managed  to  pull  up  the  horse,  and  as  I  did  so,  a  mob 
of  kangaroos  blundered  by,  blinded,  almost  against  me, 
noticing  me  no  more  in  their  terror  than  if  I  had  been  a 
stump  or  a  stone.  Soon  the  fire  came  hissing  along 
through  the  grass  scarcely  six  inches  high,  and  I  walked 
my  horse  through  it ;  then  I  tumbled  off  on  the  blackened 
ground,  and  felt  as  if  I  should  die. 

I  lay  there  on  the  hot  black  ground.  My  head  felt  like 
a  block  of  stone,  and  my  neck  was  stiff  so  that  I  could  not 
move  my  head.  My  throat  was  swelled  and  dry  as  a 
sand-hill,  and  there  was  a  roaring  in  my  ears  like  a  cata- 
ract. I  thought  of  the  cool  waterfalls  among  the  rocks  far 
away  in  Devon.  I  thought  of  everything  that  was  cold 
and  pleasant,  and  then  came  into  my  head  about  Dives 
praying  for  a  drop  of  water.  I  tried  to  get  up,  but  could 
not,  so  lay  down  again  with  my  head  upon  my  arm. 

It  grew  cooler,  and  the  atmosphere  was  clearer.  I  got 
up,  and,  mounting  my  horse,  turned  homeward.  Now  I 
began  to  think  about  the  station.  Could  it  have  escaped  ? 
Impossible  !  The  fire  would  My  a  hundred  yards  or  more 
such  a  day  as  this  even  in  low  plain.  No,  it  must  be  gone  ! 
There  was  a  great  roll  in  the  plain  between  me  and  home, 
so  that  I  could  see  nothing  of  our  place — all  around  the 
country  was  black,  without  a  trace  of  vegetation.  Behind 
me  were  the  smoking  ruins  of  the  forest  I  had  escaped 
from,  where  now  the  burnt-out  trees  began  to  thunder 
down  rapidly,  and  before,  to  the  south,  I  could  see  the 
fire  raging  miles  away. 

So  the  station  is  burnt,  then  ?  No !  For  as  I  top  the 
ridge,  there  it  is  before  me,  standing  as  of  old — a  bright 
oasis  in  the  desert  of  burnt  country  round.  Ay  !  the  very 
hay-stack  is  safe  !  And  the  paddocks  ? — all  right ! — glory 
be  to  God ! 

I  got  home,  and  James  came  running  to  meet  me. 
264 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  I  was  getting  terribly  frightened,  old  man,"  said  he. 
"  I  thought  you  were  caught.  Lord  save  us,  you  look  ten 
years  older  than  you  did  this  morning  !  " 

I  tried  to  answer,  but  could  not  speak  for  drought.  He 
ran  and  got  me  a  great  tumbler  of  claret-and-water  ;  and, 
in  the  evening,  having  drunk  about  an  imperial  gallon  of 
water,  and  taken  afterwards  some  claret,  I  felt  pretty  well 
revived. 

Men  were  sent  out  at  once  to  see  after  the  Morgans, 
and  found  them  perfectly  safe,  but  very  much  frightened ; 
they  had,  however,  saved  their  hut,  for  the  fire  had  passed 
before  the  wind  had  got  to  its  full  strength. 

So  we  were  delivered  from  the  fire ;  but  still  no  rain. 
All  day,  for  the  next  month,  the  hot  north  wind  would 
blow  till  five  o'clock,  and  then  a  cool  southerly  breeze 
would  come  up  and  revive  us;  but  still  the  heavens  were 
dry,  and  our  cattle  died  by  hundreds. 

On  the  eighteenth  of  March,  we  sat  in  the  verandah 
looking  still  over  the  blackened  unlovely  prospect,  but 
now  cheerfully  and  with  hope ;  for  the  eastern  sky  was 
piled  up  range  beyond  range  with  the  scarlet  and  purple 
splendour  of  cloud-land,  and,  as  darkness  gathered,  we 
saw  the  lightning,  not  twinkling  and  glimmering  harmlessly 
about  the  horizon,  as  it  had  been  all  the  summer,  but  fall- 
ing sheer  in  violet-coloured  rivers  behind  the  dark  curtain 
of  rain  that  hung  from  the  black  edge  of  a  teeming  thun- 
der-cloud. 

We  had  asked  our  overseer  in  that  night,  being  Satur- 
day, to  drink  with  us  ;  he  sat  very  still,  and  talked  but 
little,  as  was  his  wont.  I  slapped  him  on  the  back,  and 
said  : — 

"  Do  you  remember,  Geordie,  that  muff  in  Thalaba  who 
chose  the  wrong  cloud  ?  He  should  have  got  you  or  me 
to  choose  for  him ;  we  wouldn't  have  made  a  mistake,  I 
know.  We  would  have  chosen  such  a  one  as  yon  glori- 
ous big-bellied  fellow.  See  how  grandly  he  comes  growl- 
ing up ! " 

265 


The  Recollections  of 

"  It's  just  come,"  said  he,  "  without  the  praying  for. 
When  the  fire  came  owre  the  hill  the  other  day,  I  just  put 
up  a  bit  prayer  to  the  Lord,  that  He'd  spare  the  hay-stack, 
and  He  spared  it.  (I  didna  stop  working,  ye  ken ;  I 
worked  the  harder  ;  if  ye  dinna  mean  to  work,  ye  should 
na  pray.)  But  I  never  prayed  for  rain, — I  didna,  ye  see, 
like  to  ask  the  Lord  to  upset  all  his  gran'  laws  of  electric- 
ity and  evaporation,  just  because  it  would  suit  us.  I 
thocht  He'd  likely  ken  better  than  mysel.  Hech,  sirs,  but 
that  chiel's  riding  hard  !  " 

A  horseman  appeared  making  for  the  station  at  full 
speed  ;  when  he  was  quite  close,  Jim  called  out,  "  By  Jove, 
it  is  Doctor  Mulhaus  !  "  and  we  ran  out  into  the  yard  to 
meet  him. 

Before  any  one  had  time  to  speak,  he  shouted  out : 
"  My  dear  boys,  I'm  so  glad  I  am  in  time  :  we  are  going 
to  see  one  of  the  grandest  electrical  disturbances  it  has 
ever  been  my  lot  to  witness.  I  reined  up  just  now  to 
look,  and  I  calculated  that  the  southern  point  of  explosion 
alone  is  discharging  nine  times  in  the  minute.  How  is 
your  barometer  ?  " 

"  Haven't  looked,  Doctor." 

"  Careless  fellow,"  he  replied,  "  you  don't  deserve  to 
have  one." 

"  Never  mind,  sir,  we  have  got  you  safe  and  snug  out 
of  the  thunder-storm.  It  is  going  to  be  very  heavy  I 
think.  I  only  hope  we  will  have  plenty  of  rain." 

"  Not  much  doubt  of  it,"  said  he.  "  Now,  come  into 
the  verandah  and  let  us  watch  the  storm." 

We  went  and  sat  there  ;  the  highest  peaks  of  the  great 
cloud  alps,  lately  brilliant  red,  were  now  cold  silver  grey, 
harshly  defined  against  a  faint  crimson  background,  and 
we  began  to  hear  the  thunder  rolling  and  muttering.  All 
else  was  deadly  still  and  heavy. 

"  Mark  the  lightning  !  "  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  that  which 
is  before  the  rain-wall  is  white,  and  that  behind  violet- 
coloured.     Here  comes  the  thunder-gust." 
266 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

.  A  fierce  blast  of  wind  came  hurrying  on,  carrying  a 
cloud  of  dust  and  leaves  before  it.  It  shook  the  four  cor- 
ners of  the  house  and  passed  away.  And  now  it  was  a 
fearful  sight  to  see  the  rain-spouts  pouring  from  the  black 
edge  of  the  lower  cloud  as  from  a  pitcher,  nearly  overhead, 
and  lit  up  by  a  continuous  blaze  of  lightning.  Another 
blast  of  wind,  now  a  few  drops,  and  in  ten  minutes  you 
could  barely  distinguish  the  thunder  above  the  rattle  of 
the  rain  on  the  shingles. 

It  warred  and  banged  around  us  for  an  hour,  so  that 
we  could  hardly  hear  one  another  speak.  At  length  the 
Doctor  bawled, — 

"  We  shall  have  a  crack  closer  than  any  yet,  you'll  see  ; 
we  always  have  one  particular  one ; — our  atmosphere  is  not 
restored  to  its  balance  yet, — there  !  " 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  and  yet,  for  an  instant,  the 
room  was  as  bright  as  day.  Simultaneously  there  came  a 
crack  and  an  explosion,  so  loud  and  terrifying,  that,  used 
as  I  was  to  such  an  event,  I  involuntarily  jumped  up  from 
my  seat. 

"  Are  you  all  right  here  ?  "  said  the  Doctor  ;  and,  run- 
ning out  into  the  kitchen,  shouted,  "  Any  one  hurt  ?  " 

The  kitchen  girl  said  that  the  lightning  had  run  all  down 
her  back  like  cold  water,  and  the  housekeeper  averred  that 
she  thought  the  thunder  had  taken  the  roof  of  the  house 
off.  So  we  soon  perceived  that  nothing  was  the  matter, 
and  sat  down  again  to  our  discourse,  and  our  supper. 
"  Well,"  began  I,  "  here's  the  rain  come  at  last.  In  a 
fortnight  there  will  be  good  grass  again.  We  ought  to 
start  and  get  some  store  cattle." 

"  But  where  ?  "  replied  James.  "  We  shall  have  to  go 
a  long  way  for  them  ;  every  one  will  be  wanting  the  same 
thing  now.  We  must  push  a  long  way  north,  and  make 
a  depot  somewhere  westward.  Then  we  can  pick  them 
up  by  sixes  and  sevens  at  a  time.  When  shall  we 
go?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better." 

267 


The  Recollections  of 

"  I  think  I  will  come  with  you,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  -I 
have  not  been  a  journey  for  some  time." 

"  Your  conversation,  sir,"  I  said,  "  will  shorten  the 
journey  by  one-half  " — which  was  sincerely  said. 

Away  we  went  northward,  with  the  mountains  on  our 
•  left,  leaving  snow-streaked  Kosciusko  nearly  behind  us, 
till  a  great  pass,  through  the  granite  walls,  opened  up  to 
the  westward,  up  which  we  turned,  Mount  Murray  tower- 
ing up  the  south.  Soon  we  were  on  the  Murrumbidgee, 
sweeping  from  side  to  side  of  his  mountain  valley  in  broad 
curves,  sometimes  rushing  hoarse,  swollen  by  the  late 
rains,  under  beds  of  high  timber,  and  sometimes  dividing 
broad  meadows  of  rich  grass,  growing  green  once  more 
under  the  invigorating  hand  of  autumn.  All  nature  had 
awakened  from  her  deep  summer  sleep,  the  air  was  brisk 
and  nimble,  and  seldom  did  three  happier  men  ride  on 
their  way  than  James,  the  Doctor,  and  I. 

Good  Doctor !  How  he  beguiled  the  way  with  his 
learning  —  in  ecstasies  all  the  time,  enjoying  everything, 
animate  or  inanimate,  as  you  or  I  would  enjoy  a  new  play 
or  a  new  opera.  How  I  envied  him  !  He  was  like  a  man 
always  reading  a  new  and  pleasant  book.  At  first  the 
stockmen  rode  behind,  talking  about  beasts,  and  horses, 
and  what  not — often  talking  about  nothing  at  all,  but  rid- 
ing along  utterly  without  thought,  if  such  a  thing  could 
be.  But  soon  I  noticed  they  would  draw  up  closer,  and  re- 
gard the  Doctor  with  some  sort  of  attention,  till  toward  the 
evening  of  the  second  day,  one  of  them,  our  old  acquaint- 
ance Dick,  asked  the  Doctor  a  question,  as  to  why,  if  I 
remember  right,  certain  trees  should  grow  in  certain  local- 
ities, and  there  only.  The  Doctor  reined  up  alongside 
him  directly,  and  in  plain  forcible  language  explained  the 
matter :  how  that  some  plants  required  more  of  one  sort 
of  substance  than  another,  and  how  they  get  it  out  of  par- 
ticular soils ;  and  how,  in  the  lapse  of  years,  they  had 
come  to  thrive  best  on  the  soil  that  suited  them,  and  had 
got  stunted  and  died  out  in  other  parts.  "  See,"  said  he, 
268 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  how  the  turkey  holds  to  the  plains,  and  the  pheasant 
(lyre-bird)  to  the  scrub,  because  each  one  finds  its  food 
there.  Trees  cannot  move  ;  but  by  time,  and  by  positively 
refusing  to  grow  on  unkindly  soils,  they  arrange  them- 
selves in  the  localities  which  suit  them  best." 

So  after  this  they  rode  with  the  Doctor  always,  both 
hearing  him  and  asking  him  questions,  and  at  last,  won 
by  his  blunt  kindliness,  they  grew  to  like  and  respect  him 
in  their  way,  even  as  we  did. 

So  we  fared  on  through  bad  weather  and  rough  country, 
enjoying  a  journey  which,  but  for  him,  would  have  been  a 
mere  trial  of  patience.  Northward  ever,  through  forest 
and  plain,  over  mountain  and  swamp,  across  sandstone, 
limestone,  granite,  and  rich  volcanic  land,  each  marked 
distinctly  by  a  varying  vegetation.  Sometimes  we  would 
camp  out,  but  oftener  managed  to  reach  a  station  at  night. 
We  got  well  across  the  dry  country  between  the  Murrum- 
bidgee  and  the  Lachlan,  now  abounding  with  pools  of 
water ;  and,  having  crossed  the  latter  river,  held  on  our 
course  towards  Croker's  Range,  which  we  skirted ;  and, 
after  having  been  about  a  fortnight  out,  arrived  at  the 
lowest  station  on  the  Macquarrie  late  in  the  afternoon. 

This  was  our  present  destination.  The  owner  was  a 
friend  of  ours,  who  gave  us  a  hearty  welcome,  and,  on  our 
inquiries  as  to  store  cattle,  thought  that  we  might  pick  up 
a  good  mob  of  them  from  one  station  or  another.  "  We 
might,"  said  he,  "  make  a  depot  for  them,  as  we  collected 
them,  on  some  unoccupied  land  down  the  river.  It  was 
poor  country,  but  there  was  grass  enough  to  keep  them 
alive.  He  would  show  us  a  good  place,  in  a  fork,  where 
it  was  impossible  to  cross  on  two  sides,  and  where  they 
would  be  easily  kept  together ;  that  was,  if  we  liked  to  risk 
it." 

"  Risk  what  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Blacks,"  said  he.  "  They  are  mortal  troublesome  just 
now  down  the  river.  I  thought  we  had  quieted  them, 
but  they  have  been  up  to  their  old  games  lately,  spearing 
269 


The  Recollections  of 

cattle,  and  so  on.  I  don't  like,  in  fact,  to  go  too  far  down 
there  alone.  I  don't  think  they  are  Macquarrie  blacks  ;  I 
fancy  they  must  have  come  up  from  the  Darling,  through 
the  marshes." 

We  thought  we  should  have  no  reason  to  be  afraid  with 
such  a  strong  party  as  ours ;  and  Owen,  our  host,  having 
some  spare  cattle,  we  were  employed  for  the  next  three 
days  in  getting  them  in.  We  got  nearly  a  hundred  head 
from  him. 

The  first  morning  we  got  there  the  Doctor  had  vanished  ; 
but  the  third  evening,  as  we  were  sitting  down  to  supper, 
in  he  came,  dead  beat,  with  a  great  bag  full  of  stones. 
When  we  had  drawn  round  the  fire,  I  said  : 

"  Have  you  got  any  new  fossils  for  us  to  see  ?  " 

"  Not  one,"  said  he ;  "  only  some  minerals." 

"  Do  not  you  think,  sir,"  said  Owen,  our  host,  "  that 
there  are  some  ores  of  metals  round  this  country?  The 
reason  I  ask  you  is,  we  so  often  pick  up  curious-coloured 
stones,  like  those  we  get  from  the  miners  at  home,  in 
Wales,  where  I  come  from." 

"  I  think  you  will  find  some  rich  mines  near  here  soon. 
Stay ;  it  can  do  you  no  harm.  I  will  tell  you  something  : 
three  days  ago  I  followed  up  the  river,  and  about  twenty 
miles  above  this  spot  I  became  attracted  by  the  conforma- 
tion of  the  country,  and  remarked  it  as  being  very  similar 
to  some  very  famous  spots  in  South  America.  '  Here,'  I 
said  to  myself, 'Maximilian,  you  have  your  volcanic  dis- 
turbance, your  granite,  your  clay,  slate,  and  sandstone  up- 
heaved, and  seamed  with  quartz  ; — why  should  you  not  dis- 
cover here,  what  is  certainly  here,  more  or  less  ?  ' — I  looked 
patiently  for  two  days,  and  I  will  show  you  what  I  found." 

He  went  to  his  bag  and  fetched  an  angular  stone  about 
as  big  as  one's  fist.  It  was  white,  stained  on  one  side 
with  rust-colour,  but  in  the  heart  veined  with  a  bright 
yellow  metallic  substance,  in  some  places  running  in  deli- 
cate veins  into  the  stone,  in  others  breaking  out  in  large 
shining  lumps. 

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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  That's  iron-pyrites,"  said  I,  as  pat  as  you  please. 

"  Goose  !  "  said  the  Doctor  ;  "  look  again." 

I  looked  again,  it  was  certainly  different  to  iron-pyrites ; 
it  was  brighter,  it  ran  in  veins  into  the  stone  ;  it  was 
lumpy,  solid,  and  clean.  I  said,  "  It  is  very  beautiful ;  tell 
us  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  Gold !  "  said  he,  triumphantly,  getting  up  and  walk- 
ing about  the  room  in  an  excited  way  ;  "  that  little  stone 
is  worth  a  pound ;  there  is  a  quarter  of  an  ounce  in  it. 
Give  me  ten  tons,  only  ten  cartloads  such  stone  as  that, 
and  I  would  buy  a  principality." 

Every  one  crowded  round  the  stone  open-mouthed,  and 
James  said  : 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  gold,  Doctor  ?  " 

"  He  asks  me  if  I  know  gold,  when  I  see  it, — me,  you 
understand,  who  have  scientifically  examined  all  the  best 
mines  in  Peru,  not  to  mention  the  Minas  Geraes  in  the 
Brazils  !  My  dear  fellow,  to  a  man  who  has  once  seen  it, 
native  gold  is  unmistakeable,  utterly  so  ;  there  is  nothing 
at  all  like  it." 

"  But  this  is  a  remarkable  discovery,  sir,"  said  Owen. 
"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  to  the  Government,"  said  he,  "  and  make 
the  best  bargain  I  can." 

I  had  better  mention  here  that  he  afterwards  did  go  to 
the  Government,  and  announce  his  discovery.  Rather  to 
the  Doctor's  disgust,  however,  though  he  acknowledged 
the  wisdom  of  the  thing,  the  courteous  and  able  gentleman 
who  then  represented  His  Majesty,  informed  him  that  he 
was  perfectly  aware  of  the  existence  of  gold,  but  that  he 
for  one  should  assert  the  prerogative  of  the  Crown,  and 
prevent  any  one  mining  on  Crown-lands  ;  as  he  considered 
that,  were  the  gold  abundant,  the  effects  on  the  convict 
population  would  be  eminently  disastrous.  To  which 
obvious  piece  of  good  sense  the  Doctor  bowed  his  head, 
and  the  whole  thing  passed  into  oblivion — so  much  so,  that 
\vhen  I  heard  of  Hargreave's  discovery  in  1851,  I  had 
271 


The  Recollections  of 

nearly  forgotten  the  Doctor's  gold  adventure ;  and  I  may 
here  state  my  belief  that  the  knowledge  of  its  existence  was 
confined  to  very  few,  and  those  well-educated  men,  who 
never  guessed  (how  could  they  without  considerable  work- 
ings ?)  how  abundant  it  was.  As  for  the  stories  of  shep- 
herds finding  gold  and  selling  it  to  the  Jews  in  Sidney, 
they  are  very  mythical,  and  I  for  one  entirely  disbelieve 
them. 

In  time  we  had  collected  about  250  head  of  cattle  from 
various  points  into  the  fork  of  the  river,  which  lay  further 
down,  some  seven  miles,  than  his  house.  As  yet  we  had 
not  been  troubled  by  the  black  fellows.  Those  we  had 
seen  seemed  pretty  civil,  and  we  had  not  allowed  them  to 
get  familiar ;  but  this  pleasant  state  of  things  was  not  to 
last.  James  and  the  Doctor,  with  one  man,  were  away 
for  the  very  last  mob,  and  I  was  sitting  before  the  fire  at 
the  camp,  when  Dick,  who  was  left  behind  with  me,  asked 
for  my  gun  to  go  and  shoot  a  duck.  I  lent  it  him,  and 
away  he  went,  while  I  mounted  my  horse  and  rode  slowly 
about,  heading  back  such  of  the  cattle  as  appeared  to"  be 
wandering  too  far. 

I  heard  a  shot,  and  almost  immediately  another ;  then  I 
heard  a  queer  sort  of  scream,  which  puzzled  me  extremely. 
I  grew  frightened  and  rode  towards  the  quarter  where 
the  shots  came  from,  and  almost  immediately  heard  a  loud 
co'oe.  I  replied,  and  then  I  saw  Dick  limping  along 
through  the  bushes,  peering  about  him  and  holding  his 
gun  as  one  does  when  expecting  a  bird  to  rise.  Suddenly 
he  raised  his  gun  and  fired.  Out  dashed  a  black  fellow 
from  his  hiding  place,  running  across  the  open,  and  with 
his  second  barrel  Dick  rolled  him  over.  Then  I  saw  half- 
a-dozen  others  rise,  shaking  their  spears ;  but  seeing  me 
riding  up,  and  supposing  I  was  armed,  they  made  off. 

"  How  did  this  come  about,  Dick,  my  lad  ?  "  said  I. 
"  This  is  a  bad  job." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  just  fired  at  a  duck,  and  the  mo- 
ment my  gun  was  gone  off,  up  jumped  half-a-dozen  of 
272 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

them,  and  sent  a  shower  of  spears  at  me,  and  one  has 
gone  into  my  leg.  They  must  a'  thought  that  I  had  a 
single-barrel  gun  and  waited  till  I'd  fired  it;  but  they 
found  their  mistake,  the  devils ;  for  I  gave  one  of  them  a 
charge  of  shot  in  his  stomach  at  twenty  yards,  and 
dropped  him  ;  they  threw  a  couple  more  spears,  but  both 
missed,  and  I  hobbled  out  as  well  as  I  could,  loading  as  I 
went  with  a  couple  of  tallow  cartridges.  I  saw  this  other 
beast  skulking,  and  missed  him  first  time,  but  he  has  got 
something  to  remember  me  by  now." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  ride  to  the  station  and  get  some 
help  ?  "  said  I.  "  I  wish  the  others  were  back." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  will  manage  it,  but  I  don't  like  to 
leave  you  alone." 

"  One  must  stay,"  I  said,  "  and  better  the  sound  man 
than  the  wounded  one.  Come,  start  off,  and  let  me  get  to 
the  camp,  or  they  will  be  plundering  that  next." 

I  started  him  off  and  ran  back  to  the  camp.  Every- 
thing was  safe  as  yet,  and  the  ground  round  being  clear, 
and  having  a  double-barrel  gun  and  two  pistols,  I  was 
not  so  very  much  frightened.  It  is  no  use  to  say  I  was 
perfectly  comfortable,  because  I  wasn't.  A  Frenchman 
writing  this,  would  represent  himself  as  smoking  a  cigar, 
and  singing  with  the  greatest  nonchalance.  I  did  neither. 
Being  an  Englishman,  I  may  be  allowed  to  confess  that  I 
did  not  like  it. 

I  had  fully  made  up  my  mind  to  fire  on  the  first  black 
who  showed  himself,  but  I  did  not  get  the  opportunity. 
In  about  two  hours  I  heard  a  noise  of  men  shouting  and 
whips  cracking,  and  the  Doctor  and  James  rode  up  with 
a  fresh  lot  of  cattle. 

I  told  them  what  had  happened,  and  we  agreed  to  wait 
and  watch  till  news  should  come  from  the  station,  and 
then  to  start.  There  was,  as  we  thought,  but  little  dangsr 
while  there  were  four  or  five  together  ;  but  the  worst  of  it 
was,  that  we  were  but  poorly  armed.  IIo\vever,  at  night- 
fall, Owen  and  one  of  his  men  came  down,  reporting  that 
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The  Recollections  of 

Dick,  who  had  been  speared,  was  getting  all  right,  and 
bringing  also  three  swords,  and  a  brace  of  pistols. 

James  and  I  took  a  couple  of  swords,  and  began  fenc- 
ing, in  play. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Doctor,  "  that  you  know  the  use  of  a 
sword,  you  two." 

"  Lord  bless  you  !  "  I  said,  "  we  were  in  the  Yeomanry 
(Landwehr  you  call  it)  ;  weren't  we,  Jim  ?  I  was  a  cor- 
poral." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Owen,  "  that,  now  we  are  together,  five 
of  us,  you  would  come  and  give  these  fellows  a  lesson  ; 
they  want  it  badly." 

"  Indeed,"  I  said,"  I  think  they  have  had  lesson  enough 
for  the  present.  Dick  has  put  down  two  of  them.  Be- 
side, we  could  not  leave  the  cattle." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  James,  "  that  any  of  our  party  has 
had  this  collision  with  them.  I  cannot  bear  shooting  the 
poor  brutes.  Let  us  move  out  of  this,  homeward,  to-mor- 
row morning." 

Just  before  dark,  who  should  come  riding  down  from 
the  station  but  Dick  ! — evidently  in  pain,  but  making  be- 
lieve that  he  was  quite  comfortable. 

"  Why,  Dick,  my  boy,"  I  said,  "  I  thought  you  were  in 
bed  ;  you  ought  to  be,  at  any  rate." 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  much  the  matter  with  me,  Mr. 
Hamlyn,"  he  said.  "  You  will  have  some  trouble  with 
these  fellows,  unless  I  am  mistaken.  /  was  told  to  look 
after  you  once,  and  I  mean  to  do  it." 

(He  referred  to  the  letter  that  Lee  had  sent  him  years 
before.) 

That  night  Owen  stayed  with  us  at  the  camp.  We  set 
a  watch,  and  he  took  the  morning  spell.  Everything 
passed  off  quietly ;  but  when  we  came  to  examine  our 
cattle  in  the  morning,  the  lot  that  James  had  brought  in 
the  night  before  were  gone. 

The  river,  flooded  when  we  first  came,  had  now  lowered 
considerably,  so  that  the  cattle  could  cross  if  they  really 

274 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

tried.     These  last,  being  wild  and  restless,  had  gone  over, 
and  we  soon  found  the  marks  of  them  across  the  river. 

The  Doctor,  James,  Dick,  and  I  started  off  after  them, 
having  armed  ourselves  for  security.  We  took  a  sword 
a-piece,  and  each  had  a  pistol.  The  ground  was  moist, 
and  the  beasts  easily  tracked  ;  so  we  thought  an  easy  job 
was  before  us,  but  we  soon  changed  our  minds. 

Following  on  the  trail  of  the  cattle,  we  very  soon  came 
on  the  footsteps  of  a  black  fellow,  evidently  more  recent 
than  the  hoof-marks  ;  then  another  footstep  joined  in,  and 
another,  and  at  last  we  made  out  that  above  a  dozen  blacks 
were  tracking  our  cattle,  and  were  between  us  and  them. 

Still  we  followed  the  trail  as  fast  as  we  could.  I  was 
uneasy,  for  we  were  insufficiently  armed,  but  I  found  time 
to  point  out  to  the  Doctor,  what  he  had  never  remarked 
before,  the  wonderful  difference  between  the  naked  foot- 
print of  a  white  man  and  a  savage.  The  white  man  leaves 
the  impression  of  his  whole  sole,  every  toe  being  distinctly 
marked,  while  your  black  fellow  leaves  scarce  any  toe- 
marks,  but  seems  merely  to  spurn  the  ground  with  the  ball 
of  his  foot. 

I  felt  very  ill  at  ease.  The  morning  was  raw,  and  a 
dense  fog  was  over  everything.  One  always  feels 
wretched  on  such  a  morning,  but  on  that  one  I  felt  miser- 
able. There  was  an  indefinable  horror  over  me,  and  I 
talked  more  than  any  one,  glad  to  hear  the  sound  of  my 
own  voice. 

Once  the  Doctor  turned  round  and  looked  at  me  fixedly 
from  under  his  dark  eyebrows.  "  Hamlyn,"  he  said,  "  I 
don't  think  you  are  well ;  you  talk  fast,  and  are  evidently 
nervous.  We  are  in  no  danger,  I  think,  but  you  seem  as 
if  you  were  frightened." 

"  So  I  am,  Doctor,  but  I  don't  know  what  at." 

Jim  was  riding  first,  and  he  turned  and  said,  "  I  have 
lost  the  black  fellows'  track  entirely  :  here  are  the  hoof- 
marks,  safe  enough,  but  no  foot-prints,  and  the  ground 
seems  to  be  rising." 

275 


The  Recollections  of 

The  fog  was  very  thick,  so  that  we  could  see  nothing 
above  a  hundred  yards  from  us.  We  had  come  through 
forest  all  the  way,  and  were  wet  with  pushing  through 
low  shrubs.  As  we  paused  came  a  puff  of  air,  and  in  five 
minutes  the  fog  had  rolled  away,  and  a  clear  blue  sky  and 
a  bright  sun  were  overhead. 

Now  we  could  see  where  we  were.  We  were  in  the 
lower  end  of  a  precipitous  mountain-gulley,  narrow  where 
we  were,  and  growing  rapidly  narrower  as  we  advanced. 
In  the  fog  we  had  followed  the  cattle-track  right  into  it, 
passing,  unobserved,  two  great  heaps  of  tumbled  rocks 
which  walled  the  glen ;  they  were  thickly  fringed  with 
scrub,  and  it  immediately  struck  me  that  they  stood  just 
in  the  place  where  we  had  lost  the  tracks  of  the  black  fel- 
lows. 

I  should  have  mentioned  this,  but,  at  this  moment, 
James  caught  sight  of  the  lost  cattle,  and  galloped  off 
after  them  ;  we  followed,  and  very  quickly  we  had  headed 
them  down  the  glen,  and  were  posting  homeward  as  hard 
as  we  could  go. 

I  remember  well  there  was  a  young  bull  among  them 
that  took  the  lead.  As  he  came  nearly  opposite  the  two 
piles  of  rock  which  I  have  mentioned,  I  saw  a  black  fellow 
leap  on  a  boulder,  and  send  a  spear  into  him. 

He  headed  back,  and  the  other  beasts  came  against 
him.  Before  we  could  pull  up  we  were  against  the  cattle, 
and  then  all  was  confusion  and  disaster.  Two  hundred 
black  fellows  were  on  us  at  once,  shouting  like  devils, 
and  sending  down  their  spears  upon  us  like  rain.  I  heard 
the  Doctor's  voice,  above  all  the  infernal  din,  crying 
"  Viva !  Swords,  my  boys  ;  take  your  swords  !  "  I  heard 
two  pistol  shots,  and  then,  with  deadly  wrath  in  my 
heart,  I  charged  at  a  crowd  of  them,  who  were  huddled 
together,  throwing  their  spears  wildly,  and  laid  about  me 
with  my  cutlass  like  a  madman. 

I  saw  them  scrambling  up  over  the  rocks  in  wild  con- 
fusion ;  then  I  heard  the  Doctor  calling  me  to  come  on. 
276 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

He  had  reined  up,  and  a  few  of  the  discomfited  savages 
were  throwing  spears  at  him  from  a  long  distance.  When 
he  saw  me  turn  to  come,  he  turned  also,  and  rode  after 
James,  who  was  two  hundred  yards  ahead,  reeling  in  his 
saddle  like  a  drunken  man,  grinding  his  teeth,  and  mak- 
ing fierce  clutches  at  a  spear  which  was  buried  deep  in 
his  side,  and  which  at  last  he  succeeded  in  tearing  out. 
He  went  a  few  yards  further,  and  then  fell  off  his  horse 
on  the  ground. 

We  were  both  off  in  a  moment,  but  when  I  got  his 
head  on  my  lap,  I  saw  he  was  dying.  The  Doctor  looked 
at  the  wound,  and  shook  his  head.  I  took  his  right  hand 
in  mine,  and  the  other  I  held  upon  his  true  and  faithful 
heart,  until  I  felt  it  flutter,  and  stop  for  ever. 

Then  I  broke  down  altogether.  "  Oh  !  good  old  friend  ! 
Oh  !  dear  old  friend,  could  you  not  wait  for  me  ?  Shall 
I  never  see  you  again  ?  " 

Yes  !  I  think  that  I  shall  see  him  again.  When  I  have 
crossed  the  dark  river  which  we  must  all  cross,  I  think  he 
will  be  one  of  those  who  come  down  to  meet  me  from  the 
gates  of  the  Everlasting  City. 

****** 

"A  man,"  said  the  Doctor  to  me,  two  days  after,  when 
we  were  sitting  together  in  the  station  parlour,  "  who  ap- 
proached as  nearly  the  model  which  our  Great  Master 
has  left  us  as  any  man  I  know.  I  studied  and  admired 
him  for  many  years,  and  now  I  cannot  tell  you  not  to 
mourn.  I  can  give  you  no  comfort  for  the  loss  of  such  a 
man,  save  it  be  to  say  that  you  and  I  may  hope  to  meet 
him  again,  and  learn  new  lessons  from  him,  in  a  better 
place  than  this." 


277 


The  Recollections  of 


Chapter  XXV 

In  which  the  new  Dean  of  B makes  his  Appearance,  and 

astonishes  the  Major  out  of  his  Propriety 

ONE  evening  towards  the  end  of  that  winter  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley and  Sam  sat  alone  before  the  fire,  in  the  quickly-gath- 
ering darkness.  The  candles  were  yet  unlighted,  but  the 
cheerful  flickering  light  produced  by  the  combustion  of 
three  or  four  logs  of  sheoak,  topped  by  one  of  dead  gum, 
shone  most  pleasantly  on  the  well-ordered  dining-room, 
on  the  close-drawn  curtains,  on  the  nicely-polished  furni- 
ture, on  the  dinner-table,  laid  with  fair  array  of  white 
linen,  silver,  and  glass,  but,  above  all,  on  the  honest,  quiet 
face  of  Sam,  who  sat  before  his  mother  in  an  easy  chair, 
with  his  head  back,  fast  asleep. 

While  she  is  alternately  casting  glances  of  pride  and 
affection  towards  her  sleeping  son,  and  keen  looks  on  the 
gum  log,  in  search  of  centipedes,  let  us  take  a  look  at  her 
ourselves,  and  see  how  sixteen  years  have  behaved  to  that 
handsome  face.  There  is  change  here,  but  no  deteriora- 
tion. It  is  a  little  rounder  perhaps,  and  also  a  little  fuller 
in  colour,  but  there  are  no  lines  there  yet.  "  Happiness 
and  ceaseless  good  temper  don't  make  many  wrinkles, 
even  in  a  warmer  climate  than  old  England,"  says  the 
Major,  and  says  also,  confidentially,  to  Brentwood,  "  Put  a 
red  camelia  in  her  hair,  and  send  her  to  the  opera  even 
now,  and  see  what  a  sensation  she  would  make,  though 
she  is  nearer  fifty  than  forty," — which  was  strictly  true, 
although  said  by  her  husband,  for  the  raven  hair  is  as 
black  as  it  was  when  decorated  with  the  moss-roses  of 
Clere,  and  the  eye  is  as  brilliant  as  when  it  flashed  with 
the  news  of  Trafalgar. 

Now,  the  beautiful  profile  is  turned  again  towards  the 
sleeper  as  he  moves.  "  Poor  boy !  "  she  said.  "  He  is 
quite  knocked  up.  He  must  have  been  twenty-four  hours 
278 


Geoff ry  Hamlyn 

in  the  saddle.  However,  he  had  better  be  after  cattle 
than  in  a  billiard-room.  I  wonder  if  his  father  will  be 
home  to-night." 

Suddenly  Sam  awoke.  "  Heigho  !  "  said  he.  "  I'm 
nice  company,  mother.  Have  I  been  asleep  ?  " 

"  Only  for  an  hour  or  so,  my  boy,"  said  she.  "  See  ; 
I've  been  defending  you  while  you  slumbered.  I  have 
killed  three  centipedes,  which  came  out  of  that  old  gum 
log.  I  cut  this  big  one  in  half  with  the  fire-shovel,  and 
the  head  part  walked  away  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 
I  must  tell  the  man  not  to  give  us  rotten  wood,  or  some 
of  us  will  be  getting  a  nip.  It's  a  long  fifty  miles  from 
Captain  Brentwood's,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley  after  a  time. 
"  And  that's  a  very  good  day's  work  for  little  Bronse- 
wing,  carrying  your  father." 

"  And  what  has  been  the  news  since  I  have  been  away, 
— eh,  mother  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  greatest  news  is  that  the  Donovans  have 
sold  their  station,  and  are  off  to  Port  Phillip." 

"  All  the  world  is  moving  there,'1  said  Sam.  "  Who  has 
he  sold  it  to  ?  " 

"  That  I  can't  find  out. — There's  your  father,  my  love." 

There  was  the  noise  of  horses'  feet  and  merry  voices  in 
the  little  gravelled  yard  behind  the  house,  heard  above 
a  joyous  barking  of  dogs.  Sam  ran  out  to  hold  his  fa- 
ther's horse,  and  soon  came  into  the  room  again,  accom- 
panied by  his  father  and  Captain  Brentwood. 

After  the  first  greetings  were  over,  candles  were  lighted, 
and  the  three  men  stood  on  the  hearth-rug  together — a 
very  remarkable  group,  as  you  would  have  said,  had  you 
seen  them.  You  might  go  a  long  while  in  any  country 
without  seeing  three  such  men  in  company. 

Captain  Brentwood,  of  Artillery  renown,  was  a  square, 
powerfully  built  man,  say  five-foot-ten  in  height.  His 
face,  at  first  sight,  appeared  rather  a  stupid  one  beside 
the  Major's,  expressing  rather  determination  than  intel- 
ligence ;  but  once  engage  him  in  a  conversation  which  in- 
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terested  him,  and  you  would  be  surprised  to  see  how 
animated  it  would  become.  Then  the  man,  usually  so 
silent,  would  open  up  the  store-house  of  his  mind,  speak- 
ing with  an  eloquence  and  a  force  which  would  surprise 
one  who  did  not  know  him,  and  which  made  the  Doctor 
often  take  the  losing  side  of  an  argument  for  the  purpose 
of  making  him  speak.  Add  to  this  that  he  was  a  thor- 
oughly amiable  man,  and,  as  Jim  would  tell  you  (in  spite 
of  a  certain  severe  whipping  you  wot  of),  a  most  indulgent 
and  excellent  father. 

Major  Buckley's  shadow  had  grown  no  less, — nay, 
rather  greater,  since  first  we  knew  him.  In  other  re- 
spects, there  was  very  little  alteration,  except  that  his 
curling  brown  hair  had  grown  thinner  about  the  temples, 
and  was  receding  a  little  from  his  forehead.  But  what 
cared  he  for  that !  He  was  not  the  last  of  the  Buckleys. 

One  remarks  now,  as  the  two  stand  together,  that  Sam, 
though  but  nineteen,  is  very  nearly  as  tall  as  his  father, 
and  promises  to  be  as  broad  across  the  shoulders,  some 
day,  being  an  exception  to  colonially-bred  men  in  general, 
who  are  long  and  narrow.  He  is  standing  and  talking  to 
his  father. 

"Well,  Sam,"  said  the  Major,  "  so  you're  back  safe, — 
eh,  my  boy !  A  rough  time,  I  don't  doubt.  Strange 
store-cattle  are  queer  to  drive  at  any  time,  particularly 
such  weather  as  you  have  had." 

"  And  such  a  lot,  too  !  "  said  Sam.  "  Tell  you  what, 
father,  it's  lucky  youv'e  got  them  cheap,  for  the  half  of 
them  are  off  the  ranges." 

"  Scrubbers,  eh  ?  "  said  the  Major  ;  "  well,  we  must  take 
what  we  can  catch,  with  this  Port  Phillip  rush.  Let's  sit 
down  to  dinner ;  I've  got  some  news  that  will  please  you. 
Fish,  eh  ?  See  there,  Brentwood !  What  do  you  think 
of  that  for  a  black-fish  ?  What  was  his  weight,  my 
dear  ?  " 

"  Seven  pounds  and  a  half,  as  the  black  fellows  brought 
him  in,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley. 

280 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  A  very  pretty  fish,"  said  the  Major.  "  My  dear,  what 
is  the  news  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  Donovans  have  sold  their  station." 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  the  Major.  "  Why,  we  have 
come  from  there  to-day.  Why,  we  were  there  last  night 
at  a  grand  party.  All  the  Irishmen  in  the  country  side. 
Such  a  turmoil  I  haven't  seen  since  I  was  quartered  at 
Cove.  So  that's  your  news, — eh  ?  " 

"  And  so  you  stepped  on  there  without  calling  at  home, 
did  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  And  perhaps  you  know 
who  the  purchaser  is  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know,  my  love  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  I  have  been  try- 
ing to  find  out  these  two  days.  It  would  be  very  pleasant 
to  have  a  good  neighbour  there, — not  that  I  wish  to  speak 
evil  of  the  Donovans ;  but  really  they  did  go  on  in  such 
terrible  style,  you  know,  that  one  could  not  go  there. 
Now,  tell  me  who  has  bought  Garoopna." 

"  One  Brentwood,  captain  of  Artillery." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "Is  he  not  joking 
now,  Captain  Brentwood  ?  That  is  far  too  good  news  to 
be  true." 

"  It  is  true,  nevertheless,  madam,"  said  Captain  Brent- 
wood. "  I  thought  it  would  meet  with  your  approval,  and 
I  can  see  by  Sam's  face  that  it  meets  with  his.  You  see, 
my  dear,  Buckley  has  got  to  be  rather  necessary  to  me.  I 
miss  him  when  he  is  absent,  and  I  want  to  be  more  with 
him.  Again,  I  am  very  fond  of  my  son  Jim,  and  my  son 
Jim  is  very  fond  of  your  son  Sam,  and  is  always  coming 
here  after  him  when  he  ought  to  be  at  home.  So  I  think 
I  shall  see  more  of  him  when  we  are  ten  miles  apart  than 
when  we  are  fifty.  And,  once  more,  my  daughter  Alice, 
now  completing  her  education  in  Sydney,  comes  home  to 
keep  house  for  me  in  a  few  months,  and  I  wish  her  to 
have  the  advantage  of  the  society  of  the  lady  whom  I 
honour  and  respect  above  all  others.  So  I  have  bought 
Garoopna." 

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"  If  that  courtly  bow  is  intended  for  me,  my  dear  Cap- 
tain," said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  as  I  cannot  but  think  it  is,  be- 
lieve me  that  your  daughter  shall  be  as  my  daughter." 

"  Teach  her  to  be  in  some  slight  degree  like  yourself, 
Mrs.  Buckley,"  said  the  Captain,  "and  you  will  put  me 
under  obligations  which  I  can  never  repay." 

"  Altogether,  wife,"  said  the  Major,  "  it  is  the  most 
glorious  arrangement  that  ever  was  come  to.  Let  us  take 
a  glass  of  sherry  all  round  on  it.  Sam,  my  lad,  your 
hand  !  Brent  wood,  we  have  none  of  us  ever  seen  your 
daughter.  She  should  be  handsome." 

"  You  remember  her  mother?  "  said  the  Captain. 

"  Who  could  ever  forget  Lady  Kate  who  had  once  seen 
her  ?  "  said  the  Major. 

"  Well,  Alice  is  more  beautiful  than  her  mother  ever 
was." 

There  went  across  the  table  a  bright  electric  spark  out 
of  Mrs.  Buckley's  eye  into  her  husband's,  as  rapid  as  those 
which  move  the  quivering  telegraph  needles,  and  yet  not 
unobserved,  I  think,  by  Captain  Brentwood,  for  there  grew 
upon  his  face  a  pleasant  smile,  which,  rapidly  broadening, 
ended  in  a  low  laugh,  by  no  means  disagreeable  to  hear, 
though  Sam  wondered  what  the  joke  could  be  until  the 
Captain  said, — 

"  An  altogether  comical  party  that  last  night  at  the 
Donovans',  Buckley !  the  most  comical  I  ever  was  at." 

Nevertheless,  I  don't  believe  that  it  was  that  which 
made  him  laugh  at  all. 

"  A  capital  party !  "  said  the  Major,  laughing.  "  Do 
you  know,  Brentwood,  I  always  liked  those  Donovans, 
under  the  rose,  and  last  night  I  liked  them  better  than  ever. 
They  were  not  such  very  bad  neighbours,  although  old 
Donovan  wanted  to  fight  a  duel  with  me  once.  At  all 
events,  the  welcome  I  got  last  night  will  make  me  re- 
member them  kindly  in  future." 

"  I  must  go  down  and  call  there  before  they  go,"  said 
Mrs.  Buckley.  "  People  who  have  been  our  neighbours 
282 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

so  many  years  must  not  go  away  without  a  kind  farewell. 
Was  Desborough  there  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  he  was.  Don't  you  know  he  is  related  to  the 
Donovans  ?  " 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  Fact  my  dear  I  assure  you,  according  to  Mrs.  Dono- 
van, who  told  me  that  the  De  Novans  and  the  Des- 
boroughs  were  cognate  Norman  families,  who  settled  in 
Ireland  together,  and  have  since  frequently  intermar- 
ried." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  laughing,  "  that  Des-~ 
borough  did  not  deny  it." 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear  :  as  he  said  to  me  privately, '  Buck- 
ley, never  deny  a  relationship  with  a  man  worth  forty 
thousand  pounds,  the  least  penny,  though  your  ancestors' 
bones  should  move  in  their  graves.'  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  that  he  made  himself 
as  agreeable  as  usual." 

"  As  usual,  my  dear.  He  made  even  Brentwood  laugh  ; 
he  danced  all  the  evening  with  that  giddy  girl  Lesbia 
Burke,  who  let  slip  that  she  remembered  me  at  Naples,  in 
1805,  when  she  was  there  with  that  sad  old  set,  and  who 
consequently  must  be  nearly  as  old  as  myself." 

"  I  hope  you  danced  with  her,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley. 

"  Indeed  I  did,  my  dear.  And  she  wore  a  wreath  of 
yellow  chrysanthemum,  no  other  flowers  being  obtainable. 
I  assure  you  we  '  kept  the  flure  '  in  splendid  style." 

They  were  all  laughing  at  the  idea  of  the  Major  danc- 
ing, when  Sam  exclaimed,  "  Good  Lord  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter,  my  boy  ?  "  said  the  Major. 

"  I  must  cry  peccavi, '  said  Sam.  "  Father,  you  will 
never  forgive  me  !  I  forgot  till  this  moment  a  most  im- 
portant message.  I  was  rather  knocked  up,  you  see,  and 
went  to  sleep,  and  that  sent  it  out  of  my  head." 

"  You  are  forgiven,  my  boy,  be  it  what  it  may.  I  hope 
it  is  nothing  very  serious." 

"  Well,  it  is  very  serious,"  said  Sam.      "  As  I  was  com- 
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The  Recollections  of 

ing  by  Hanging  Rock,  I  rode  up  to  the  door  a  minute,  to 
see  if  Cecil  was  at  home, — and  Mrs.  Mayford  came  out  and 
wanted  me  to  get  off  and  come  in,  but  I  hadn't  time ;  and 
she  said,  '  The  Dean  is  coming  here  to-night,  and  he'll  be 
with  you  to-morrow  night,  I  expect.  So  don't  forget  to 
tell  your  mother.'  " 

"  To-morrow  night  !  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  aghast. 
"  Why,  my  dear  boy,  that  is  to-night !  What  shall  I 
do?" 

"  Nothing  at  all,  my  love,"  said  the  Major,  "  but  make 
them  get  some  supper  ready.  He  can't  have  expected  us 
to  wait  dinner  till  this  time." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Captain  Brentwood,  "  that  the  Dean 
was  gone  back  to  England." 

"  So  he  is,"  said  the  Major.  "  But  this  is  a  new  one. 
The  good  old  Dean  has  resigned." 

"  What  is  the  new  one's  name  ?  "  said  the  Captain. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Major.  '  "  Desborough  said  it 
was  a  Doctor  Maypole,  and  that  he  was  very  like  one  in 
appearance.  But  you  can't  trust  Desborough,  you  know  ; 
he  never  remembers  names.  I  hope  he  may  be  as  good  a 
man  as  his  predecessor." 

"  I  hope  he  may  be  no  worse,"  said  Captain  Brent- 
wood  ;  "  but  I  hope,  in  addition,  that  he  may  be  better 
able  to  travel,  and  look  after  his  outlying  clergy  a  little 
more." 

"  It  looks  like  it,"  said  the  Major,  "  to  be  down  as  far  as 
this,  before  he  has  been  three  months  installed." 

Mrs.  Buckley  went  out  to  the  kitchen  to  give  orders  ; 
and  after  that  they  sat  for  an  hour  or  more  over  their 
wine,  till  at  length  the  Major  said, — 

"  We  must  give  him  up  in  another  hour." 

Then,  as  if  they  had  heard  him,  the  dogs  began  to  bark. 
Rover,  who  had,  against  rules,  sneaked  into  the  house,  and 
lain  perdu  under  the  sofa,  discovered  his  retreat  by  low 
growling,  as  though  determined  to  do  his  duty,  let  the 
consequences  be  what  they  might.  Every  now  and  then, 
284 


GeolTry  Hamlyn 

too,  when  his  feelings  overpowered  him,  he  would  dis- 
charge a  "  Woof  "  like  a  minute  gun  at  sea. 

"  That  must  be  him,  father,"  said  Sam.  "  You'll  catch 
it,  Mr.  Rover  !  " 

He  ran  out ;  a  tall  black  figure  was  sitting  on  horse- 
back before  the  door,  and  a  pleasant  cheery  voice  said, 
"  Pray,  is  this  Major  Buckley's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Sam ;  "  we  have  been  expecting  you." 

He  called  for  the  groom,  and  held  the  stranger's  horse 
while  he  dismounted.  Then  he  assisted  him  to  unstrap 
his  valise,  and  carried  it  in  after  him. 

The  Major,  Mrs.  Buckley,  and  the  Captain  had  risen, 
and  were  standing  ready  to  greet  the  Church  dignitary  as 
he  came  in,  in  the  most  respectful  manner.  But  when  the 
Major  had  looked  for  a  moment  on  the  tall  figure  in  black 
which  advanced  towards  the  fire  ;  instead  of  saying,  "  Sir, 
I  am  highly  honoured  by  your  visit,"  or  "  Sir,  I  bid  you 
most  heartily  welcome,"  he  dashed  forward  in  the  most 
undignified  fashion,  upsetting  a  chair,  and  seizing  the  rev- 
erend Dean  by  both  hands,  exclaimed,  "  God  bless  my 
heart  and  soul !  Frank  Maberly  !  " 

It  was  he :  the  mad  curate,  now  grown  into  a  colonial 
dean, — sobered,  apparently,  but  unchanged  in  any  material 
point :  still  elastic  and  upright,  looking  as  if  for  twopence 
he  would  take  off  the  black  cutaway  coat  and  the  broad- 
brimmed  hat,  and  row  seven  in  the  University  eight,  at  a 
moment's  notice.  There  seemed  something  the  matter 
with  him  though,  as  he  held  the  Major's  two  hands  in  his, 
and  looked  on  his  broad  handsome  face.  Something  like 
a  shortness  of  breath  prevented  his  speech,  and,  strange, 
the  Major  seemed  troubled  with  the  same  complaint ;  but 
Frank  got  over  it  first,  and  said, — 

"  My  dear  old  friend,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  " 

And  Mrs.  Buckley  said,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm, 

"  It  seems  as  if  all  things  were  arranged  to  make  my 

husband  and  myself  the  happiest  couple  in  the  world.     If 

we  had  been  asked  to-night,  whom  of  all  people  in  the 

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world  we  should  have  been  most  glad  to  see  as  the  new 
Dean,  we  should  have  answered  at  once,  Frank  Maberly ; 
and  here  he  is  !  " 

"  Then,  you  did  not  know  whom  to  expect  ?  "  said 
Frank. 

"  Not  we,  indeed,"  said  the  Major.  "  Desborough  said 
the  new  Dean  was  a  Doctor  Maypole  ;  and  I  pictured  to 
myself  an  old  schoolmaster  with  a  birch  rod  in  his  coat 
tail-pocket.  And  we  have  been  in  such  a  stew  all  the 
evening  about  giving  the  great  man  a  proper  reception. 
Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

"  And  will  you  introduce  me  to  this  gentleman  ?  "  said 
the  Dean,  moving  towards  Sam,  who  stood  behind  his 
mother. 

"  This,"  said  the  Major,  with  a  radiant  smile,  "  is  my 
son  Samuel,  whom,  I  believe,  you  have  seen  before." 

"  So,  the  pretty  boy  that  I  knew  at  Drumston,"  said 
the  Dean,  laying  his  hands  on  Sam's  shoulders,  "  has 
grown  into  this  noble  gentleman  !  It  makes  me  feel  old, 
but  I  am  glad  to  feel  old  under  such  circumstances.  Let 
me  turn  your  face  to  the  light  and  see  if  I  can  recognise 
the  little  lad  whom  I  used  to  carry  pickaback  across 
Hatherleigh  Water." 

Sam  looked  in  his  face — such  a  kindly  good  placid  face, 
that  it  seemed  beautiful,  though  by  some  rules  it  was  irreg- 
ular and  ugly  enough.  The  Dean  laid  his  hand  on  Sam's 
curly  head,  and  said,  "  God  bless  you,  Samuel  Buckley," 
and  won  Sam's  heart  for  ever. 

All  this  time  Captain  Brentwood  had  stood  with  his 
back  against  the  chimney-piece,  perfectly  silent,  having 
banished  all  expression  from  his  countenance ;  now,  how- 
ever, Major  Buckley  brought  up  the  Dean  and  introduced 
him : 

"  My  dear  Brentwood,  the  Dean  of  B ;  not  Dean 

to  us  though,  so  much  as  our  dear  old  friend  Frank 
Maberly." 

"  Involved  grammar,"  said  the  Captain  to  himself,  but, 
286 


Geoifry  Hamlyn 

added  aloud  :  "  A  Churchman  of  your  position,  sir,  will  do 
me  an  honour  by  using  my  house  ;  but  the  Mr.  Maberly 
of  whom  I  have  so  often  heard  from  my  friend  Buckley, 
will  do  me  a  still  higher  honour  if  he  will  allow  me  to 
enrol  him  among  the  number  of  my  friends." 

Frank  the  Dean  thought  that  Captain  Brentwood's 
speech  would  have  made  a  good  piece  to  turn  into  Greek 
prose,  in  the  style  of  Demosthenes ;  but  he  didn't  say  so. 
He  looked  at  the  Captain's  stolid  face  for  a  moment,  and 
said,  as  Sam  thought,  a  little  abruptly  : 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  you  and  I  shall  got  on  very  well  to- 
gether when  we  understand  one  another." 

The  Captain  made  no  reply  in  articulate  speech,  but 
laughed  internally,  till  his  sides  shook,  and  held  out  his 
hand.  •  The  Dean  laughed  too,  as  he  took  it,  and  said  : 

"  I  met  a  young  lady  at  the  Bishop's  the  other  day,  a 
Miss  Brentwood." 

"  My  daughter,  sir,"  said  the  Captain. 

"  So  I  guessed — partly  from  the  name,  and  partly  from 
a  certain  look  about  the  eyes,  rather  unmistakeable.  Al- 
low me  to  say,  sir,  that  I  never  remember  to  have  seen 
such  remarkable  beauty  in  my  life." 

They  sat  Frank  down  to  supper,  and  when  he  had  done, 
the  conversation  was  resumed. 

"  By-the-bye,  Major  Buckley,"  said  he,  "  I  miss  an  old 
friend,  who  I  heard  was  living  with  you  ;  a  very  dear  old 
friend, — where  is  Doctor  Mulhaus  ?  " 

"  Dear  Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  this  is  his  home 
indeed,  but  he  is  away  at  present  on  an  expedition  with 
two  old  Devon  friends,  Hamlyn  and  Stockbridge." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Frank,  "  I  have  heard  of  those  men  ;  they 
came  out  here  the  year  before  the  Vicar  died.  I  never 
knew  either  of  them,  but  I  well  remember  how  kindly 
Stockbridge  used  to  be  spoken  of  by  every  one  in  Drum- 
ston.  I  must  make  his  acquaintance." 

"  You  will  make  the  acquaintance  of  one  of  the  finest 
fellows  in  the  world,  Dean,"  said  the  Major ;  "  I  know  no 
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The  Recollections  of 

worthier  man  than  Stockbridge.  I  wish  Mary  Thornton 
had  married  him." 

"  And  I  hear,"  said  Frank,  "  that  the  pretty  Mary  is 
your  next  door  neighbour,  in  partnership  with  that  excel- 
lent giant  Troubridge.  I  must  go  and  see  them  to-morrow. 
I  will  produce  one  of  those  great  roaring  laughs  of  his, 
by  reminding  him  of  our  first  introduction  at  the  Palace, 
through  a  rat." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  the  Major,  "  that  Tom  is  away 
at  Port  Phillip,  with  cattle." 

"  Port  Phillip  again,"  said  Frank ;  "  I  have  heard  of 
nothing  else  throughout  my  journey.  I  am  getting  bored 
with  it.  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  know  about  it  for 
certain  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Major,  "  it  lies  about  250  miles  south 
of  this,  though  we  cannot  get  at  it  without  crossing  the 
mountains,  in  consequence  of  some  terribly  dense  scrub 
on  some  low  ranges  close  to  it,  which  they  call,  I  believe, 
the  Dandenong.  It  appears,  however,  when  you  are  there, 
that  there  is  a  great  harbour,  about  forty  miles  long,  sur- 
rounded with  splendid  pastures,  which  stretch  west  further 
than  any  man  has  been  yet.  Take  it  all  in  all,  I  should 
say  it  was  the  best  watered  and  most  available  piece  of 
country  yet  discovered  in  New  Holland." 

"  Any  good  rivers  ?  "  asked  the  Dean. 

"  Plenty  of  small  ones,  only  one  of  any  size,  apparently, 
which  seems  to  rise  somewhere  in  this  direction,  and  goes 
in  at  the  head  of  the  bay.  They  tried  years  ago  to  form  a 
settlement  on  this  bay,  but  Collins,  the  man  entrusted  with 
it,  could  find  no  fresh  water,  which  seems  strange,  as 
there  is,  according  to  all  accounts,  a  fine  full-flowing  river 
running  by  the  town." 

"  They  have  formed  a  town  there,  then  ?  "  said  the 
Dean. 

"  There  are  a  few  wooden  houses  gone  up  by  the  river 
side.  I  believe  they  are  going  to  make  a  town  there,  and 
call  it  Melbourne ;  we  may  live  to  see  it  a  thriving  place." 
288 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

The  Major  has  lived  to,see  his  words  fulfilled — fulfilled 
in  such  marvellous  sort,  that  bald  bare  statistics  read  like 
the  wildest  romance.  At  the  time  he  spoke,  twenty-two 
years  ago  from  this  present  year  1858,  the  Yarra  rolled  its 
clear  waters  to  the  sea  through  the  unbroken  solitude  of  a 
primeval  forest,  as  yet  unseen  by  the  eye  of  a  white  man. 
Now  there  stands  there  a  noble  city,  with  crowded 
wharves,  containing  with  its  suburbs  not  less  than  1 20,000 
inhabitants,  i  ,000  vessels  have  lain  at  one  time  side  by 
side,  off  the  mouth  of  that  little  river ;  and  through  the 
low  sandy  heads  that  close  the  great  port  towards  the  sea, 
thirteen  millions  sterling  of  exports  is  carried  away  each 
year  by  the  finest  ships  in  the  world.  Here,  too,  are  wa- 
terworks constructed  at  fabulous  expense,  a  service  of 
steam-ships,  between  this  and  the  other  great  cities  of 
Australia,  vicing  in  speed  and  accommodation  with  the 
coasting  steamers  of  Great  Britain  ;  noble  churches,  hand- 
some theatres.  In  short,  a  great  city,  which,  in  its  amaz- 
ing rapidity  of  growth,  utterly  surpasses  all  human  ex- 
perience. 

I  never  stood  in  Venice  contemplating  the  decay  of  the 
grand  palaces  of  her  old  merchant  princes,  whose  time  has 
gone  by  for  ever.  I  never  watched  the  slow  downfall  of  a 
great  commercial  city ;  but  I  have  seen  what  to  him  who 
thinks  aright  is  an  equally  grand  subject  of  contemplation 
— the  rapid  rise  of  one.  I  have  seen  what  but  a  small 
moiety  of  the  world,  even  in  these  days,  has  seen,  and 
what,  save  in  this  generation,  has  never  been  seen  before, 
and  will,  I  think,  never  be  seen  again.  I  have  seen  Mel- 
bourne. Five  years  in  succession  did  I  visit  that  city,  and 
watch  each  year  how  it  spread  and  grew  until  it  was  be- 
yond recognition.  Every  year  the  press  became  denser, 
and  the  roar  of  the  congregated  thousands  grew  louder, 
till  at  last  the  scream  of  the  flying  engine  rose  above  the 
hubbub  of  the  streets,  and  two  thousand  miles  of  electric 
wire  began  to  move  the  clicking  needles  with  ceaseless  in- 
telligence. 

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The  Recollections  of 

Unromantic  enough,  but  beyond  all  conception  wonder- 
ful. I  stood  at  the  east  end  of  Bourke  Street,  not  a  year 
ago,  looking  at  the  black  swarming  masses,  which  thronged 
the  broad  thoroughfare  below.  All  the  town  lay  at  my 
feet,  and  the  sun  was  going  down  beyond  the  distant 
mountains ;  I  had  just  crossed  from  the  front  of  the  new 
Houses  of  Legislature,  and  had  nearly  been  run  over  by  a 
great  omnibus.  Partly  to  recover  my  breath,  and  partly, 
being  not  used  to  large  cities,  to  enjoy  the  really  fine  scene 
before,  I  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  street  in  contemplative 
mood.  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  looked  round, — 
it  was  Major  Buckley. 

"  This  is  a  wonderful  sight,  Hamlyn,"  said  he. 

"  When  you  think  of  it,"  I  said,  "  really  think  of  it,  you 
know,  how  wonderful  it  is  !  " 

"  Brentwood,"  said  the  Major,  "  has  calculated  by  his 
mathematics  that  the  progress  of  the  species  is  forty-seven, 
decimal  eight,  more  rapid  than  it  was  thirty-five  years 
ago." 

"  So  I  should  be  prepared  to  believe,"  I  said ;  "  where 
will  it  all  end  ?  Will  it  be  a  grand  universal  republic, 
think  you,  in  which  war  is  unknown,  and  universal  pros- 
perity has  banished  crime  ?  I  may  be  too  sanguine,  but 
such  a  state  of  things  is  possible.  This  is  a  sight  which 
makes  a  man  look  far  into  the  future." 

"  Prosperity,"  said  the  Major,  "  has  not  done  much 
towards  abolishing  crime  in  this  town,  at  all  events  ;  and 
it  would  not  take  much  to  send  all  this  back  into  its  prim- 
eval state." 

"  How  so,  Major?  "  said  I  ;  "  I  see  here  the  cradle  of  a 
new  and  mighty  empire." 

"  Two  rattling  good  thumps  of  an  earthquake,"  said  the 
Major,  "  would  pitch  Melbourne  into  the  middle  of  Port 
Phillip,  and  bury  all  the  gold  far  beyond  the  reach  even  of 
the  Ballarat  deep-sinkers.  The  world  is  very,  very  young, 
my  dear  Hamlyn.  Come  down  and  dine  with  me  at  the 
club." 

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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Chapter  XXVI 
White  Heathens 

CAPTAIN  BRENTWOOD  went  back  to  Garoopna  next 
morning  ;  but  Frank  Maberly  kept  to  his  resolution  of  go- 
ing over  to  see  Mary ;  and,  soon  after  breakfast,  they  were 
all  equipped  ready  to  accompany  him,  standing  in  front  of 
the  door,  waiting  for  the  horses.  Frank  was  remarking 
how  handsome  Mrs.  Buckley  looked  in  her  hat  and  habit, 
when  she  turned  and  said  to  him, — 

"  My  dear  Dean,  I  suppose  you  never  jump  over  five- 
barred  gates  now-a-days  ?  Do  you  remember  how  you 
used  to  come  over  the  white  gate  at  the  Vicarage  ?  I 
suppose  you  are  getting  too  dignified  for  any  such 
thing  ?  " 

There  was  a  three-railed  fence  dividing  the  lower  end  of 
the  yard  from  the  paddock.  He  rammed  his  hat  on  tight, 
and  took  it  flying,  with  his  black  coat-tails  fluttering  like 
wings  ;  and,  coming  back  laughing,  said, — 

"  There's  a  bit  of  the  old  Adam  for  you,  Mrs.  Buckley  ! 
Be  careful  how  you  defy  me  again." 

The  sun  was  bright  overhead,  and  the  land  in  its  full 
winter  verdure,  as  they  rode  along  the  banks  of  the  creek 
that  led  to  Toonarbin.  Frank  Maberly  was  as  humorous 
as  ever,  and  many  a  merry  laugh  went  ringing  through  the 
woodland  solitudes,  sending  the  watchman  cockatoo 
screaming  aloft  to  alarm  the  flock,  or  startling  the  brilliant 
thick-clustered  lories  (richest  coloured  of  all  parrots  in  the 
world),  as  they  hung  chattering  on  some  silver-leaved 
acacia,  bending  with  their  weight  the  fragile  boughs  down 
towards  the  clear  still  water,  lighting  'up  the  dark  pool 
with  strange,  bright  reflections  of  crimson  and  blue ; 
startling,  too,  the  feeding  doe-kangaroo,  who  skipped 
slowly  away,  followed  by  her  young  one — so  slowly  that 
the  watching  travellers  expected  her  to  stop  each  moment, 
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The  Recollections  of 

and  could  scarcely  believe  she  was  in  full  flight  till  she 
topped  a  low  ridge  and  disappeared. 

"  That  is  a  strange  sight  to  a  European,  Mrs.  Buckley," 
said  Frank  ;  "  a  real  wild  animal.  It  seems  so  strange  to 
me,  now,  to  think  that  I  could  go  and  shoot  that  beast, 
and  account  to  no  man  for  it.  That  is,  you  know,  suppos- 
ing I  had  a  gun,  and  powder  and  shot,  and,  also,  that  the 
kangaroo  would  be  fool  enough  to  wait  till  I  was  near 
enough ;  which,  you  see,  is  pre-supposing  a  great  deal. 
Are  they  easily  approached  ?  " 

"  Easily  enough,  on  horseback,"  said  Sam,  "  but  very 
difficult  to  come  near  on  foot,  which  is  also  the  case  with 
all  wild  animals  and  birds  worth  shooting  in  this  country. 
A  footman,*  you  see,  they  all  mistake  for  their  hereditary 
enemy,  the  blackfellow  ;  but,  as  yet,  they  have  not  come 
to  distinguish  a  man  on  horseback  from  a  four  footed 
beast.  And,  this  seems  to  show  that  animals  have  their 
traditions  like  men." 

"  Pray,  Sam,  are  not  these  pretty  beasts,  these  kanga- 
roos, becoming  extinct  ?  " 

"  On  sheep-runs,  very  nearly  so.  Sheep  drive  them  off 
directly :  but  on  cattle-runs,  so  far  from  becoming  extinct, 
they  are  becoming  so  numerous  as  to  be  a  nuisance  ;  con- 
suming a  most  valuable  quantity  of  grass." 

"  How  can  you  account  for  that  ?  " 

"  Very  easily,"  said  Sam  ;  "  their  enemies  are  all  re- 
moved. The  settlers  have  poisoned,  in  well-settled  dis- 
tricts, the  native  dogs  and  eagle-hawks,  which  formerly 
kept  down  their  numbers.  The  blacks  prefer  the  beef  of 
the  settlers  to  bad  and  hard-earned  kangaroo  venison; 
and,  lastly,  the  settlers  never  go  after  them,  but  leave  them 
to  their  own  inventions.  So  that  the  kangaroo  has  better 
times  of  it  than  ever." 

*  Let  not  Charles  or  Jeames  suppose  that  they  or  their  brethren 
of  the  plush  are  here  spoken  of.  Could  they  be  mistaken  for 
blackfellows  ?  No  ;  the  word  footman  merely  means  one  who 
goes  afoot  instead  of  riding. 

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Geoffry  Hamlyn 

"  That  is  rather  contrary  to  what  one  has  heard,  though," 
said  Frank. 

"  But  Sam  is  right,  Dean,"  said  the  Major.  "  People 
judge  from  seeing  none  of  them  on  the  plains,  from 
which  they  have  been  driven  by  the  sheep  ;  but  there  are 
as  many  in  the  forest  as  ever." 

"  The  Emu,  now,"  said  Frank,  "  are  they  getting 
scarce  ?  " 

"  They  will  soon  be  among  the  things  of  the  past," 
said  the  Major :  "  and  I  am  sorry  for  it,  for  they  are  a 
beautiful  and  harmless  bird." 

"  Major,"  said  Frank,  "  how  many  outlying  huts  have 
you  ?  " 

"  Five,"  said  the  Major.  "  Four  shepherds'  huts,  and 
one  store-keeper's  in  the  range,  which  we  call  the  heifer 
station." 

"  You  have  no  church  here,  I  know,"  said  Frank ;  "  but 
do  these  men  get  any  sort  of  religious  instruction  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  said  the  Major.  "  I  have  service  in 
my  house  on  Sunday,  but  I  cannot  ask  them  to  come  to 
it,  though  sometimes  the  stockmen  do  come.  The  shep- 
herds, you  know,  are  employed  on  Sunday  as  on  any 
other  day.  Sheep  must  eat !  " 

"  Are  any  of  these  men  convicts  ?  " 

"  All  the  shepherds,"  said  the  Major.  "  The  stockman 
and  his  assistant  are  free  men,  but  their  hut-keeper  is 
bond." 

"  Are  any  of  them  married  ?  " 

"  Two  of  tthe  shepherds ;  the  rest  single  ;  but  I  must 
tell  you  that  on  our  run  we  keep  up  a  regular  circulation 
of  books  among  the  huts,  and  my  wife  sticks  them  full  of 
religious  tracts  which  is  really  about  all  that  we  can  do 
without  a  clergyman." 

"  Do  you  find  they  read  your  tracts,  Mrs.  Buckley  ?  " 
asked  Frank. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  with  the  exception,  per- 
haps, of  '  Black  Giles  the  Poacher,'  which  always  comes 
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The  Recollections  of 

home  very  dirty.  Narrative  tracts  they  will  read  when 
there  is  nothing  more  lively  at  hand  ;  but  such  treatises  as 
'  Are  You  Ready?  '  and  '  The  Sinner's  Friend,'  fall  dead. 
One  copy  lasts  for  years." 

"  One  copy  of  either  of  them,"  said  Frank,  "  would  last 
me  some  time.  Then  these  fellows,  Major,  are  entirely 
godless,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you,  Dean,"  said  the  Major,  stopping 
short,  "  it's  about  as  bad  as  bad  can  be  !  it  can't  be  worse, 
sir.  If  by  any  means  you  could  make  it  worse,  it  would 
be  by  sending  such  men  round  here  as  the  one  who  was 
sent  here  last.  He  served  as  a  standing  joke  to  the  hands 
for  a  year  or  more  ;  and  I  believe  he  was  sincere  enough, 
too." 

"  I  must  invade  some  of  these  huts,  and  see  what  is  to 
be  done,"  said  Frank.  "  I  have  had  a  hard  spell  of  work 
in  London  since  old  times  ;  but  I  have  seen  enough  al- 
ready to  tell  me  that  that  work  was  not  so  hopeless  as  this 
will  be.  I  think,  however,  that  there  is  more  chance  here 
than  among  the  little  farmers  in  the  settled  districts. 
Here,  at  all  events,  I  shan't  have  the  rum-bottle  eternally 
standing  between  me  and  my  man.  What  a  glorious, 
independent,  happy  set  of  men  are  those  said  small  free- 
holders, Major !  What  a  happy  exchange  an  English 
peasant  makes  when  he  leaves  an  old,  well-ordered  so- 
ciety, the  ordinances  of  religion,  the  various  give-and-take 
relations  between  rank  and  rank,  which  make  up  the  sum 
of  English  life,  for  independence,  godlessness,  and  rum  ! 
He  gains,  say  you  !  Yes,  he  gains  meat  for  his  dinner 
every  day,  and  voila  tout !  Contrast  an  English  work- 
house schoolboy — I  take  the  lowest  class  for  example,  a 
class  which  should  not  exist — with  a  small  farmer's  son  in 
one  of  the  settled  districts.  Which  will  make  the  most 
useful  citizen  ?  Give  me  the  workhouse  lad  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  you  are  over-stating  the  case,  you  know, 
Dean,"  said  the  Major.  "  You  must  have  a  class  of  small 
farmers  !  Wherever  the  land  is  fit  for  cultivation  it  must 
294 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

be  sold  to  agriculturists ;  or,  otherwise,  in  case  of  a  war, 
we  shall  be  dependent  on  Europe  and  America  for  the 
bread  we  eat.  I  know  some  excellent  and  exemplary  men 
who  are  farmers,  I  assure  you." 

"  Of  course !  of  course  !  "  said  Frank.  "  I  did  not 
mean  quite  all  I  said  ;  but  I  am  angry  and  disappointed. 
I  pictured  to  myself  the  labourer,  English,  Scotch,  or 
Irish — a  man  whom  I  know,  and  have  lived  with  and 
worked  for  some  years,  emigrating,  and,  after  a  few  years 
of  honest  toil,  which,  compared  to  his  old  hard  drudgery, 
was  child's-play,  saving  money  enough  to  buy  a  farm.  I 
pictured  to  myself  this  man  accumulating  wealth,  happy, 
honest,  godly,  bringing  up  a  family  of  brave  boys  and 
good  girls,  in  a  country  where,  theoretically,  the  tempta- 
tions to  crime  are  all  but  removed :  this  is  what  I  imag- 
ined. I  come  out  here,  and  what  do  I  find  ?  My  friend 
the  labourer  has  got  his  farm,  and  is  prospering,  after  a 
sort.  He  has  turned  to  be  a  drunken,  godless,  impudent 
fellow,  and  his  wife  little  better  than  himself ;  his  daugh- 
ters dowdy  hussies ;  his  sons  lanky,  lean,  pasty-faced, 
blaspheming  blackguards,  drinking  rum  before  breakfast, 
and  living  by  cheating  one  another  out  of  horses.  Can 
you  deny  this  picture  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Major,  "  I  can  disprove  it  by  many 
happy  instances,  and  yet,  to  say  the  truth,  it  is  fearfully 
true  in  as  many  more.  There  is  no  social  influence  in  the 
settled  districts  ;  there  are  too  many  men  without  masters. 
Let  us  wait  and  hope." 

"  This  is  not  to  the  purpose  at  present,  though,"  said 
Mrs.  Buckley.  "  See  what  you  can  do  for  us  in  the  bush, 
my  dear  Dean.  You  have  a  very  hopeless  task  before 
you,  I  fear." 

"  The  more  hopeless,  the  greater  glory,  madam,"  said 
Frank,  taking  off  his  hat  and  waving  it.  Called,  Chosen, 
and  Faithful.  "  There  is  a  beautiful  house  !  " 

"  That  is  Toonarbin,"   said  the   Major ;  "  and  there's 
Mary  Hawker  in  the  verandah." 
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The  Recollections  of 

"  Let  us  see,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  if  she  will  know  him. 
If  she  does  not  recognise  him,  let  no  one  speak  before  me." 

When  they  had  ridden  up  and  dismounted,  Mrs.  Buck- 
ley presented  Frank.  "  My  dear,"  said  she,  "  the  Dean  is 
honouring  us  by  staying  at  Baroona  for  a  week,  and  pro- 
poses to  visit  round  at  the  various  stations.  To-morrow 
we  go  to  the  Mayfords,  and  next  day  to  Garoopna." 

Mary  bowed  respectfully  to  Frank,  and  said,  "  that  she 
felt  highly  honoured,"  and  so  forth.  "  My  partner  is  gone 
on  a  journey,  and  my  son  is  away  on  the  run,  or  they 
would  have  joined  with  me  in  bidding  you  welcome,  sir." 

Frank  would  have  been  highly  honoured  at  making 
their  acquaintance. 

Mary  started,  and  looked  at  him  again.  "  Mr.  Maber- 
ly  !  Mr.  Maberly  !  "  she  said,  "  your  face  is  changed,  but 
your  voice  is  unchangeable.  You  are  discovered,  sir  ! " 

"  And  are  you  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Mary,  plainly. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley  to  herself,  "  she  is  going  to 
give  us  one  of  her  tantrums.  I  wish  she  would  behave 
like  a  reasonable  being.  She  is  always  bent  on  making 
a  scene ; "  but  she  kept  this  to  herself,  and  only  said 
aloud  :  "  Mary,  my  dear !  Mary  !  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mrs.  Hawker,"  said 
Frank  :  "  but  it  is  just  and  natural." 

"  Natural,"  said  Mary,  "  and  just.  You  are  connected  in 
my  mind  with  the  most  unhappy  and  most  degraded  pe- 
riod of  my  life.  Can  you  expect  that  I  should  be  glad  to 
see  you  ?  You  were  kind  to  me  then,  as  is  your  nature  to 
be,  kind  and  good  above  all  men  whom  I  know.  I 
thought  of  you  always  with  love  and  admiration,  as  one 
whom  I  deeply  honoured,  but  would  not  care  to  look 
upon  again.  As  the  one  of  all  whom  I  would  have  for- 
get me  in  my  disgrace.  And  now,  to-day  of  all  days, 
just  when  I  have  found  the  father's  vices  confirmed  in 
the  son,  you  come  before  me,  as  if  from  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  to  remind  me  of  what  I  was." 
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Geolfry  Hamlyn 

Mrs.  Buckley  was  very  much  shocked  and  provoked  by 
this,  but  held  her  tongue  magnanimously.  And  what  do 
you  think,  my  dear  reader,  was  the  cause  of  all  this  hys- 
teric tragic  nonsense  on  the  part  of  Mary  ?  Simply  this. 
The  poor  soul  had  been  put  out  of  temper.  Her  son 
Charles,  as  I  mentioned  before,  had  had  a  scandalous 
liaison  with  one  Meg"  Macdonald,  daughter  of  one  of  the 
Donovans'  (now  Brentwood's)  shepherds.  That  morning, 
this  brazen  hussy,  as  Mary  very  properly  called  her,  had 
come  coolly  up  to  the  station  and  asked  for  Charles. 
And  on  Mary's  shaking  her  fist  at  her,  and  bidding  her 
be  gone,  she  had  then  and  there  rated  poor  Mary  in  the 
best  of  Gaelic  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  and  Mary,  in- 
stead of  venting  her  anger  on  the  proper  people,  had 
taken  her  old  plan  of  making  herself  disagreeable  to  those 
who  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  which  naturally  made  Mrs. 
Buckley  very  angry,  and  even  ruffled  the  placid  Major  a 
little,  so  that  he  was  not  sorry  when  he  saw  in  his  wife's 
face,  from  the  expression  he  knew  so  well,  that  Mary  was 
going  to  "  catch  it." 

"  I  wish,  Mary  Hawker,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  that  you 
would  remember  that  the  Dean  is  our  guest,  and  that  on 
our  account  alone  there  is  due  to  him  some  better  wel- 
come than  what  you  have  given  him." 

"  Now,  you  are  angry  with  me  for  speaking  truth  too 
abruptly,"  said  Mary,  crying. 

"  Well,  I  am  angry  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  If 
that  was  the  truth,  you  should  not  have  spoken  it  now. 
You  have  no  right  to  receive  an  old  friend  like  this." 

"You  are.  very  unkind  to  me,"  said  Mary.  "Just  when 
after  so  many  years'  peace  and  quietness  my  troubles  are 
beginning  again,  you  are  all  turning  against  me."  And 
so  she  laid  down  her  head  and  wept. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Hawker,"  said  Frank,  coming  up  and  tak- 
ing her  hand,  "  if  you  are  in  trouble,  I  know  well  that  my 
visit  is  well  timed.  Where  trouble  and  sorrow  are,  there 
is  my  place,  there  lies  my  work.  In  prosperity  my  friends 
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sometimes  forget  me,  but  my  hope  and  prayer  is,  that 
when  affliction  and  disaster  come,  I  may  be  with  them. 
You  do  not  want  me  now  ;  but  when  you  do,  God  grant  I 
may  be  with  you  !  Remember  my  words." 

She  remembered  them  well. 

Frank  made  an  excuse  to  go  out,  and  Mary,  crying  bit- 
terly, went  into  her  bedroom.  When  she  was  gone,  the 
Major,  who  had  been  standing  by  the  window,  said, — 

"  My  dear  wife,  that  boy  of  hers  is  aggravating  her. 
Don't  be  too  hard  upon  her." 

"  My  dear  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley,  "  I  have  no 
patience  with  her,  to  welcome  an  old  friend,  whom  she 
has  not  seen  for  nearly  twenty  years,  in  that  manner !  It 
is  too  provoking." 

"  You  see,  my  love,"  said  the  Major,  "  that  her  nerves 
have  been  very  much  shaken  by  misfortune,  and  at  times 
she  is  really  not  herself." 

"  And  I  tell  you  what,  mother  dear,"  said  Sam,  "  Charles 
Hawker  is  going  on  very  badly.  I  tell  you,  in  the  strictest 
confidence,  mind,  that  he  has  not  behaved  in  a  very  gen- 
tlemanlike way  in  one  particular,  and  if  he  was  any  one 
else  but  who  he  is,  I  should  have  very  little  to  say  to 
him." 

"  Well,  my  dear  husband  and  son,"  said  Mrs.  Buckley, 
"  I  will  go  in  and  make  the  amende  to  her.  Sam,  go  and 
see  after  the  Dean." 

Sam  went  out,  and  saw  Frank  across  the  yard  playing 
with  the  dogs.  He  was  going  towards  him,  when  a  man 
entering  the  yard  suddenly  came  up  and  spoke  to  him. 

It  was  William  Lee — grown  older,  and  less  wild-look- 
ing, since  we  saw  him  first  at  midnight  on  Dartmoor,  but 
a  striking  person  still.  His  hair  had  become  grizzled,  but 
that  was  the  only  sign  of  age  he  showed.  There  was 
still  the  same  vigour  of  motion,  the  same  expression  of 
enormous  strength  about  him  as  formerly ;  the  principal 
change  was  in  his  face.  Eighteen  years  of  honest  work, 
among  people  who  in  time,  finding  his  real  value,  had  got 
298 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

to  treat  him  more  as  a  friend  than  a  servant,  had  softened 
the  old  expression  of  reckless  ferocity  into  one  of  good- 
humoured  independence.  And  Tom  Troubridge,  no  care- 
less observer  of  men,  had  said  once  to  Major  Buckley, 
that  he  thought  his  face  grew  each  year  more  like  what  it 
must  have  been  when  a  boy.  A  bold  flight  of  fancy  for 
Tom,  but,  like  all  else  he  said,  true. 

Such  was  William  Lee,  as  he  stopped  Sam  in  the  yard, 
and,  with  a  bold,  honest  look  of  admiration,  said — 

"  It  makes  me  feel  young  to  look  at  you,  Mr.  Buckley. 
You  are  a  great  stranger  here  lately.  Some  young  lady 
to  run  after,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  never  mind ;  I  hope  it 
ain't  Miss  Blake." 

"  A  man  may  not  marry  his  grandmother,  Lee,"  said 
Sam,  laughing. 

"  True  for  you,  sir,"  said  Lee.  "  That  was  wrote  up  in 
Drumston  church,  I  mind,  and  some  other  things  along- 
side of  it,  which  I  could  say  by  heart  once  on  a  time — all 
on  black  boards,  with  yellow  letters.  And  also,  I  re- 
member a  spick  and  span  new  board,  about  how  An- 
thony Hamlyn  (that's  Mr.  Geoffry  Hamlyn's  father)  '  re- 
paired and  beautified  this  church ; '  which  meant  that 
he  built  a  handsome  new  pew  for  himself  in  the  chan- 
cel. Lord,  I  think  I  see  him  asleep  in  it  now.  But  never 
mind  that — I've  kept  a  pup  of  Fly's  for  you,  sir,  and 
got  it  through  the  distemper.  Fly's  pup,  by  Rollicker, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Sam.  "  I  am  really  much 
obliged  to  you.  You  must  let  me  know  the  price,  you 
know,  Lee.  The  dog  should  be  a  good  one." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Buckley,"  said  Lee,  "  I  have  been  cosseting 
this  little  beast  up  in  the  hopes  you'd  accept  it  as  a  present. 
And  then,  says  I  to  myself,  when  he  takes  a  new  chum 
out  to  see  some  sport,  and  the  dog  pulls  down  a  flying 
doe,  and  the  dust  goes  up  like  smoke,  and  dead  sticks 
come  flying  about  his  ears,  he  will  say  to  his  friends, 
'  That's  the  dog  Lee  gave  me.  Where's  his  equal  ? ' 
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The  Recollections  of 

So  don't  be  too  proud  to  take  a  present  from  an  old 
friend." 

"  Not  I,  indeed,  Lee,"  said  Sam.  "  I  thank  you  most 
heartily." 

"  Who  is  this  long  gent  in  black,  sir  ?  "  said  Lee,  look- 
ing towards  Frank,  who  was  standing  and  talking  with  the 
Major.  "  A  parson,  I  reckon." 

"  The  Dean  of  B ,"  answered  Sam. 

"  Ah  !  so," — said  Lee, — "  come  to  give  us  some  good 
advice  ?  Well,  we  want  it  bad  enough,  I  hope  some 
on  us  may  foller  it.  Seems  a  man,  too,  and  not  a 
monkey." 

"  My  father  says,"  said  Sam,  "  that  he  was  formerly  one 
of  the  best  boxers  he  ever  saw." 

Any  further  discussion  of  Frank's  physical  powers  was 
cut  short  by  his  coming  up  to  Sam  and  saying, — 

"  I  was  thinking  of  riding  out  to  one  of  the  outlying 
huts,  to  have  a  little  conversation  with  the  men.  Will  you 
come  with  me  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  be  delighted  beyond  all 
measure." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  sir,"  said  Lee,  "  but  I  understood 
you  to  say  that  you  were  going  to  one  of  our  huts  to  give 
the  men  a  discourse.  Would  you  let  me  take  you  out  to 
one  of  them  ?  I'd  like  well  to  hear  what  you'd  got  to  say 
myself,  sir,  and  I  promise  you  the  lads  I'll  show  you  want 
good  advice  as  well  as  any." 

"  You  will  do  me  infinite  service,"  said  Frank.  "  Sam, 
if  you  will  excuse  me,  let  me  ask  you  to  stay  behind.  I 
have  a  fancy  for  going  up  alone.  Let  me  take  these  men 
in  the  rough,  and  see  what  I  can  do  unassisted." 

"  You  will  be  apt  to  find  them  uncivil,  sir,"  said  Sam. 
"  I  am  known,  and  my  presence  would  ensure  you  out- 
ward respect  at  all  events." 

"  Just  what  I  thought,"  said  Frank.     "  But  I  want  to 
see  what  I  can  do  alone  and  unassisted.     No ;  stay,  and 
let  me  storm  the  place  single-handed." 
300 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

So  Lee  and  he  started  toward  the  ranges,  riding  side  by 
side. 

"  You  will  find,  sir,"  said  Lee,  "  that  these  men,  in  this 
here  hut,  are  a  rougher  lot  than  you  think  for.  Very  like 
they'll  be  cheeky.  I  would  almost  have  wished  you'd  a' 
let  Mr.  Buckley  come.  He's  a  favourite  round  here,  you 
see,  and  you'd  have  gone  in  as  his  friend." 

"  You  see,"  said  Frank,  turning  confidentially  to  Lee, 
"  I  am  not  an  ordinary  parson.  I  am  above  the  others. 
And  what  I  want  is  not  so  much  to  see  what  I  can  do  my- 
self, but  what  sort  of  a  reception  any  parson  coming  hap- 
hazard among  these  men  will  get.  That  is  why  I  left  Mr. 
Buckley  behind.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Lee.     "  But  I'm  afear'd." 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  "  said  Frank,  laughing. 

"  Why,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  sir,  that  you'll  only  get 
laughed  at." 

"  That  all!  "  said  Frank.  "  Laughter  breaks  no  bones. 
What  are  these  men  that  we  are  going  to  see  ?  " 
.  "  Why,  one,"  said  Lee,  "  is  a  young  Jimmy  (I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir,  an  emigrant),  the  other  two  are  old  prisoners. 
Now  see  here.  These  prisoners  hate  the  sight  of  a  parson 
above  all  mortal  men.  And,  for  why?  Because,  when 
they're  in  prison,  all  their  indulgences,  and  half  their  hopes 
of  liberty  depend  on  how  far  they  can  manage  to  humbug 
the  chaplain  with  false  piety.*  And  so,  when  they  are  free 
again,  they  hate  him  worse  than  any  man.  I  am  an  old 
prisoner  myself,  and  I  know  it." 

"  Have  you  been  a  prisoner,  then  ?  "  said  Frank,  sur- 
prised. 

"  I  was  transported,  sir,  for  poaching." 

"  That  all !  "  said  Frank.  "  Then  you  were  the  victim 
of  a  villanous  old  law.  Do  you  know,"  he  added,  laughing, 
"  that  I  rather  believe  I  have  earned  transportation  myself  ? 
I  have  a  horrible  schoolboy  recollection  of  a  hare  who 

*  It  must  be  remembered  that  Lee's  prison  experiences  went  so 
far  back  as  about  1811. — H.  K. 

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The  Recollections  of 

would  squeak  in  my  pocket,  and  of  a  keeper  passing  within 
ten  yards  of  where  I  lay  hidden.  If  that  is  all,  give  me 
your  hand." 

Lee  shook  his  head.  "  That  is  what  I  was  sent  out  for," 
said  he,  "  but  since  then  there  are  precious  few  villanies  I 
have  not  committed.  You  hadn't  ought  to  shake  hands 
with  me,  sir." 

Frank  laid  his  hand  kindly  on  his  shoulder.  "  I  am  not 
a  judge,"  he  said.  "  I  am  a  priest.  We  must  talk  to- 
gether again.  Now,  we  have  no  time,  for,  if  I  mistake 
not,  there  is  our  destination." 

They  had  been  riding  through  splendid  open  forest, 
growing  denser  as  they  approached  the  ranges.  They 
had  followed  a  creek  all  the  way,  or  nearly  so,  and  now 
came  somewhat  suddenly  on  a  large  reedy  waterhole, 
walled  on  all  sides  by  dense  stringy-bark  timber,  thickly 
undergrown  with  scrub.*  Behind  them  opened  a  long 
vista  formed  by  the  gully,  through  which  they  had  been 
approaching,  down  which  the  black  burnt  stems  of  the 
stringy-bark  were  agreeably  relieved  by  the  white  stems  of 
the  red  and  blue  gum,  growing  in  the  moister  and  more 
open  space  near  the  creek.**  In  front  of  them  was  a 
slab  hut  of  rich  mahogany  colour,  by  no  means  an  un- 
pleasing  object  among  the  dull  unbroken  green  of  the 
forest.  In  front  of  it  was  a  trodden  space  littered  with 
the  chips  of  firewood.  A  pile  of  the  last  article  lay  a  few 
yards  in  front  of  the  door.  And  against  the  walls  of  the 
tenement  was  a  long  bench,  on  which  stood  a  calabash, 
with  a  lump  of  soap  and  a  coarse  towel ;  a  camp  oven, 
and  a  pair  of  black-top  boots,  and  underneath  which 
lay  a  noble  cattle  dog,  who,  as  soon  as  he  saw  them, 

*  Scrub. — I  have  used,  and  shall  use,  this  word  so  often,  that 
some  explanation  is  due  to  the  English  reader.  I  can  give  no 
better  definition  of  it  than  by  saying  that  it  means  "shrubbery." 

**  Creek. — The  English  reader  must  understand  ttMt  a  creek 
means  a  succession  of  waterholes,  unconnected  for  ni»ie  months 
in  the  year. 

302 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

burst  out  into  furious  barking,  and  prepared  to  give 
battle. 

"  Will  you  take  my  horse  for  me,"  said  Frank  to  Lee, 
"  while  I  go  inside  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Lee.     "  But  mind  the  dog." 

Frank  laughed  and  jumped  off.  The  dog  was  unpre- 
pared for  this.  It  was  irregular.  The  proper  and  usual 
mode  of  proceeding  would  have  been  for  the  stranger  to 
have  stayed  on  horseback,  and  for  him  (the  dog)  to  have 
barked  himself  hoarse,  till  some  one  came  out  of  the  hut 
and  pacified  him  by  throwing  billets  of  wood  at  him  ;  no 
conversation  possible  till  his  barking  was  turned  into 
mourning.  He  was  not  up  to  the  emergency.  He  had 
never  seen  a  man  clothed  in  black  from  head  to  foot  be- 
fore. He  probably  thought  it  was  the  D— I.  His  sense 
of  duty  not  being  strong  enough  to  outweigh  considera- 
tions of  personal  safety,  he  fled  around  the  house,  and  be- 
ing undecided  whether  to  bark  or  to  howl,  did  both,  while 
Frank  opened  the  door  and  went  in. 

The  hut  was  like  most  other  bush  huts,  consisting  of 
one  undivided  apartment,  formed  of  split  logs,  called 
slabs,  set  upright  in  the  ground.  The  roof  was  of  bark, 
and  the  whole  interior  was  stained  by  the  smoke  into  a 
rich  dark  brown,  such  as  Teniers  or  our  own  beloved  Cat- 
termole  would  delight  in.  You  entered  by  a  door  in  one 
of  the  long  sides,  and  saw  that  the  whole  of  the  end  on 
your  right  was  taken  up  by  a  large  fireplace,  on  which 
blazed  a  pile  of  timber.  Round  the  walls  were  four  bed 
places,  like  the  bunks  on  board  ship,  each  filled  with  a 
heap  of  frouzy  blankets,  and  in  the  centre  stood  a  rough 
table,  surrounded  by  logs  of  wood,  sawed  square  off,  which 
served  for  seats. 

The  living  occupants  of  the  hut  were  scarcely  less  rude 
than  the  hut  itself.  One  of  the  bed  places  was  occupied 
by  a  sleepy,  black-haired,  not  bad-looking  young  fellow, 
clad  in  greasy  red  shirt,  greasy  breeches  and  boots,  and 
whose  shabby  plated  spurs  were  tangled  in  the  dirty 

303 


The  Recollections  of 

blankets.  He  was  lying  on  his  back,  playing  with  a  beauti- 
ful little  parrot.  Opposite  him,  sitting  up  in  his  bunk,  was 
another  young  fellow,  with  a  singularly  coarse,  repulsive 
countenance,  long  yellow  hair,  half-way  down  his  back, 
clothed  like  the  other  in  greasy  breeches.  This  last  one 
was  puffing  at  a  short  black  pipe,  in  an  affected  way,  mak- 
ing far  more  noise  than  was  necessary  in  that  operation, 
and  seemed  to  be  thinking  of  something  insolent  to  say  to 
the  last  speaker,  whoever  he  may  have  been. 

Another  man  was  sitting  on  the  end  of  the  bench  before 
the  fire,  with  his  legs  stretched  out  before  it.  At  the  first 
glance  Frank  saw  that  this  was  a  superior  person  to 
the  others.  He  was  dressed  like  the  others  in  black-top 
boots,  but,  unlike  the  others,  he  was  clean  and  neat.  In 
fact  the  whole  man  was  clean  and  neat,  and  had  a  clean- 
shaved  face,  and  looked  respectable,  so  far  as  outward  ap- 
pearances were  concerned.  The  fourth  man  was  the  hut- 
keeper,  a  wicked-looking  old  villain,  who  was  baking  bread. 

Frank  looked  at  the  sleepy  young  man  with  the  parrot, 
and  said  to  himself,  "  There's  a  bad  case."  He  looked  at 
the  flash,  yellow-haired  young  snob  who  was  smoking, 
and  said,  "  There's  a  worse."  He  looked  at  the  villanous 
grey-headed  old  hut-keeper,  and  said,  "  There's  a  hope- 
less case  altogether."  But  when  he  looked  at  the  neatly 
dressed  man,  who  sat  in  front  of  the  fire,  he  said,  "  That 
seems  a  more  likely  person.  There  is  some  sense  of 
order  in  him,  at  all  events.  See  what  I  can  do  with  him." 

He  stood  with  his  towering  tall  black  figure  in  the  door- 
way. The  sleepy  young  man  with  the  black  hair  sat  up 
and  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  while  his  parrot  whistled 
and  chattered  loudly.  The  yellow-haired  young  man 
looked  round  to  see  if  he  could  get  the  others  to  join  him 
in  a  laugh.  The  hut-keeper  said,  "  Oh,  h — !  "  and  attended 
once  more  to  the  cooking ;  but  the  neat-looking  man  rose 
up,  and  gave  Frank  courteously  "  Good  day." 

"  I  am  a  clergyman,"  said  Frank,  "  come  to  pay  you  a 
visit,  if  you  will  allow  me." 

304 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

Black-hair  looks  as  if  astonishment  were  a  new  sensa- 
tion to  him,  and  he  was  determined  to  have  the  most  of  it. 
Meanwhile,  little  parrot  taking  advantage  of  his  absence 
of  mind,  clambers  up  his  breast  and  nips  off  a  shirt-but- 
ton, which  he  holds  in  his  claw,  pretending  it  is  immensely 
good  to  eat.  Hut-keeper  clatters  pots  and  pans,  while 
Yellow-hair  lies  down  whistling  insolently.  These  last 
two  seemed  inclined  to  constitute  themselves  his  Majesty's 
Opposition  in  the  present  matter,  while  Black-hair  and  the 
neat  man  are  evidently  inclined  towards  Frank.  There 
lay  a  boot  in  front  of  the  fire,  which  the  neat  man,  without 
warning,  seized  and  hurled  at  Yellow-hair,  with  such  skill 
and  precision  that  the  young  fellow  started  upright  in  bed 
and  demanded,  with  many  verbs  and  adjectives,  what  he 
meant  by  that  ? 

"  I'll  teach  you  to  whistle  when  a  gentleman  comes  into 
the  hut — you  Possumguts  !  Lie  down  now,  will  you  ?  " 

Yellow-hair  lay  down,  and  there  was  no  more  trouble 
with  him.  Hut-keeper,  too,  seeing  how  matters  were  go- 
ing, left  off  clattering  his  pots,  and  Frank  was  master  of 
the  field. 

"  Very  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  says  the  neat  man  ;  "  very 
seldom  we  get  a  visit  from  a  gentleman  in  a  black  coat,  I 
assure  you." 

Frank  shook  hands  with  him  and  thanked  him,  and 
then,  turning  suddenly  upon  Black-hair,  who  was  sitting 
with  his  bird  on  his  knee,  one  leg  out  of  his  bunk,  and  his 
great  black  vacant  eyes  fixed  on  Frank,  said, — 

"  What  an  exceedingly  beautiful  bird  you  have  got 
there  !  Pray,  what  do  you  call  it  ?  " 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Black-hair  had  been  vacantly 
wondering  to  himself  whether  Frank's  black  coat  would 
meet  across  his  stomach,  or  whether  the  lower  buttons  and 
buttonholes  were  "  dummies."  So  that  when  Frank  turned 
suddenly  upon  him  he  was,  as  it  were,  caught  in  the  fact, 
and  could  only  reply  in  a  guilty  whisper  "  Mountain  blue." 

"  Will  he  talk  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

305 


The  Recollections  of 

"Whistle,"  says  Black-hair,  still  in  a  whisper,  and  then, 
clearing  his  throat  continued,  in  his  natural  tone,  "  Whistle 
beautiful.  Black  fellows  gets  'em  young  out  of  the  dead 
trees.  I'll  give  you  this  one  if  you've  a  mind." 

Frank  couldn't  think  of  it;  but  could  Black-hair  get  him 
a  young  cockatoo,  and  leave  it  with  Mr.  Sam  Buckley  for 
transmission  ? — would  be  exceedingly  obliged. 

Yes,  Black-hair  could.  Thinks,  too.  what  a  pleasant 
sort  of  chap  this  parson  was.  Will  get  him  a  cockatoo 
certainly. 

Then  Frank  asks,  may  he  read  them  a  bit  out  of  the 
Bible,  and  neat  man  says  they  will  be  highly  honoured. 
And  Black-hair  gets  out  of  his  bunk  and  sits  listening  in  a 
decently  respectful  way.  Opposition  are  by  no  means 
won  over.  The  old  hut-keeper  sits  sulkily  smoking,  and 
the  yellow-haired  man  lies  in  his  bunk  with  his  back  tow- 
ards them.  Lee  had  meanwhile  come  in,  and,  after 
recognitions  from  those  inside,  sat  quietly  down  close  to 
the  door.  Frank  took  for  a  text,  "  Servants,  obey  your 
masters,"  and  preached  them  a  sermon  about  the  re- 
lations of  master  and  servant,  homely,  plain,  sensible 
and  interesting,  and  had  succeeded  in  awakening  the 
whole  attention  and  interest  of  the  three  who  were 
listening,  when  the  door  was  opened  and  a  man  looked 
in. 

Lee  was  next  the  door,  and  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  new 
comer.  No  sooner  had  their  eyes  met  than  he  uttered  a 
loud  oath,  and,  going  out  with  the  stranger,  shut  the  door 
after  him. 

"  What  can  be  the  matter  with  our  friend,  I  wonder?  " 
asked  Frank.  "  He  seems  much  disturbed." 

The  neat  man  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it.  Lee 
and  the  man  who  had  opened  the  door  were  standing  with 
their  backs  towards  them,  talking  earnestly.  Lee  soon 
came  back  without  a  word,  and,  having  caught  and  sad- 
dled his  horse,  rode  away  with  the  stranger,  who  was  on 
foot.  He  was  a  large,  shabbily-dressed  man,  with  black 
306 


Geoflfry  Hamlyn 

curly  hair  ;  this  was  all  they  could  see  of  him,  for  his  back 
was  always  towards  them. 

"  Never  saw  Bill  take  on  like  that  before,"  said  the  neat 
man.  "  That's  one  of  his  old  pals,  I  reckon.  He  ain't 
very  fond  of  meeting  any  of  'em,  you  see,  since  he  has 
been  on  the  square.  The  best  friends  in  prison,  sir,  are 
the  worst  friends  out." 

"  Were  you  ever  in  prison,  then  ?  "  said  Frank. 

"  Lord  bless  you  !  "  said  the  other,  laughing,  "  I  was 
lagged  for  forgery." 

"  I  will  make  you  another  visit  if  I  can,"  said  Frank. 
"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  the  patience  with  which 
you  heard  me." 

The  other  ran  out  to  get  his  horse  for  him,  and  had  it 
saddled  in  no  time.  "  If  you  will  send  a  parson  round," 
he  said,  when  Frank  was  mounted,  "  I  will  ensure  him  a 
hearing,  and  good  bye,  sir." 

"  And  God  speed  you,"  says  Frank.  But,  lo  !  as  he 
turned  to  ride  away,  Black-hair  the  sleepy-headed  comes 
to  the  hut-door,  looking  important,  and  says, "  Hi !  "  Frank 
is  glad  of  this,  for  he  likes  the  stupid-looking  young  fel- 
low better  than  he  fancied  he  would  have  done  at  first,  and 
says  to  himself,  "  There's  the  making  of  a  man  in  that 
fellow,  unless  I  am  mistaken."  So  he  turns  politely  to 
meet  him,  and,  as  he  comes  towards  him,  remarks  what 
a  fine,  good-humoured  young  fellow  he  is.  Black-hair 
ranges  alongside,  and,  putting  his  hand  on  the  horse's 
neck,  says,  mysteriously — 

"  Would  you  like  a  native  companion  ?  "  * 

"  Too  big  to  carry,  isn't  it  ?  "  says  Frank. 

"  I'll  tie  his  wings  together,  and  send  him  down  on  the 
ration  dray,"  says  Black-hair.  "  You'll  come  round  and  see 
us  again,  will  you  ?  " 

So  Frank  fares  back  to  Toonarbin,  wondering  where 

*  A  great  crane,  common  in  Australia.  A  capital  pet,  though 
dangerous  among  children  ;  having  that  strange  propensity  com- 
mon to  all  the  cranes  and  herons,  of  attacking  the  eye. 

307 


The  Recollections  of 

Lee  has  gone.  But  Black-hair  goes  back  into  the  hut, 
and  taking  his  parrot  from  the  bed-place,  puts  it  on  his 
shoulder,  and  sits  rubbing  his  knees  before  the  fire.  Yel- 
low-hair and  the  hut-keeper  are  now  in  loud  conversation, 
and  the  former  is  asking,  in  a  loud  authoritative  tone  (the 
neat  man  being  outside),  "  whether  a  chap  is  to  be  hunted 

and  badgered  out  of  his  bed  by  a  parcel  of parsons  ?  " 

To  which  hut-keeper  says,  "  No,  by !  A  man  might 

as  well  be  in  barracks  again."  Yellow-hair,  morally  com- 
forted and  sustained  by  this  opinion,  is  proceeding  to  say, 
that,  for  his  part,  a  parson  is  a  useless  sort  of  animal  in 
general,  who  gets  his  living  by  frightening  old  women, 
but  that  this  particular  parson  is  an  unusually  offensive 
specimen,  and  that  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  that  he 
(Yellow-hair)  would  like  better  than  to  have  him  out  in 
front  of  the  house  for  five  minutes,  and  see  who  was  best 
man, — when  Black-hair,  usually  a  taciturn,  peaceable  fel- 
low, astonishes  the  pair  by  turning  his  black  eyes  on  the 
other,  and  saying,  with  lowering  eyebrows, — 

"  You  d d  humbug  !  Talk  about  fighting  him  ! 

Always  talk  about  fighting  a  chap  when  he's  out  of  the 
way,  when  you  know  you've  no  more  fight  in  you  than  a 
bronsewing.  Why,  he'd  kill  you,  if  you  only  waited  for 
him  to  hit  you  !  And  see  here :  if  you  don't  stop  your 
jaw  about  him,  you'll  have  to  fight  me,  and  that's  a  little 
more  than  you're  game  for,  I'm  thinking." 

This  last  was  told  me  by  the  man  distinguished  above 
as  "  the  neat  man,"  who  was  standing  outside,  and  heard 
the  whole. 

But  Frank  arrived  in  due  time  at  Toonarbin,  and  found 
all  there  much  as  he  had  left  it,  save  that  Mary  Hawker 
had  recovered  her  serenity,  and  was  standing  expecting 
him,  with  Charles  by  her  side.  Sam  asked  him,  "  Where 
was  Lee  ?  "  and  Frank,  thinking  more  of  other  things, 
said  he  had  left  him  at  the  hut,  not  thinking  it  worth  while 
to  mention  the  circumstance  of  his  having  been  called 
out — a  circumstance  which  became  of  great  significance 
308 


Geoffry  Hamlyn 

hereafter  ;  for,  though  we  never  found  out  for  certain  who 
the  man  was,  we  came  in  the  end  to  have  strong  sus- 
picions. 

However,  as  I  said,  all  clouds  had  cleared  from  the 
Toonarbin  atmosphere,  and  after  a  pleasant  meal,  Frank, 
Major  and  Mrs.  Buckley,  Sam,  and  Charles  Hawker,  rode 
home  to  Baroona  under  the  forest  arches,  and  reached  the 
house  in  the  gathering  twilight. 

The  boys  were  staying  behind  at  the  stable  as  the  three 
elders  entered  the  darkened  drawing-room.  A  figure  was 
in  one  of  the  easy  chairs  by  the  fire — a  figure  which  seemed 
familiar  there,  though  the  Major  could  not  make  out  who 
it  was  until  a  well-known  voice  said, — 

"  Is  that  you,  Buckley  ?  " 

It  was  the  Doctor.  They  both  welcomed  him  warmly 
home,  and  waited  in  the  gloom  for  him  to  speak,  but  only 
saw  that  he  had  bent  down  his  head  over  the  fire. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Doctor  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley. 

"  Sound  in  wind  and  limb,  my  dear  madam,  but  rather 
sad  at  heart.  We  have  had  some  very  severe  black  fight- 
ing, and  we  have  lost  a  kind  old  friend — James  Stock- 
bridge." 

"  Is  he  wounded,  then  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Buckley. 

"  Dead." 

"  Dead ! " 

"  Speared  in  the  side.  Rolled  off  his  horse,  and  was 
gone  in  five  minutes." 

"  Oh,  poor  James  ! "  cried  Mrs.  Buckley.  "  He,  of  all 
men !  The  man  who  was  their  champion.  To  think 
that  he,  of  all  men,  should  end  in  that  way  ! " 

****** 

Charles  Hawker  rode  home  that  night,  and  went  into 
the  room  where  his  mother  was.  She  was  sitting  sewing 
by  the  fire,  and  looked  up  to  welcome  him  home. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  there  is  bad  news  to  tell.  We 
have  lost  a  good  friend.  James  Stockbridge  is  killed  by 
the  blacks  on  the  Macquarrie." 

309 


The  Recollections  of  Geoffry  Hamlyn 

She  answered  not  a  word,  but  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  and  very  shortly  rose  and  left  the  room. 

When  she  was  alone,  she  began  moaning  to  herself, 
and  saying, — 

"  Some  more  fruit  of  the  old  cursed  tree  !  If  he  had 
never  seen  me,  he  wrould  have  died  at  home,  among  his 
old  friends,  in  a  ripe,  honoured  old  age." 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


310 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


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